A Cruel Streak
by IseeButterfly
Summary: AU. / Lisa Reisert tries to survive the daily cruelties of the senior student Jackson Rippner. But when an unforeseen atrocity rips through the lives of both of them, they have to realize that even hate has limits.
1. First Chapter

**A Cruel Streak**

**Summary:  
><strong>**AU. While other girls have to deal with the ordinary issues of puberty, Lisa Reisert tries to survive the daily cruelties of the senior student Jackson Rippner. But when an unforeseen atrocity rips through the lives of both of them, they have to realize that even hate has limits.**

_**Disclaimer: "Red Eye" and its characters belong to Wes Craven (or to Dreamworks or whatever, just not to me) **_

Part 1: Pain

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First Chapter

„Are you sure you don't want to go to the dance with me?" Jackson Rippner's smug voice scoffed at me.

My hands tightened around the chemistry book I was holding and I dared not to turn around, my eyes blindly staring into the dark inside space of my locker. I knew he saw how the muscles in my shoulder tensed and gave away my anxiety.

"Because no one else is gonna ask you, you know?"

I bit the inside of my cheek as I heard the peals of laughter of other senior students and took my scribbling pad, ignoring his words. He was right, I knew it. Painfully so. No boy would every toss a second glance my way, not when they could instead look at those full bosomed girls in form-fitting tops and bold skirts that whipped around their perfectly tanned thighs.

I on the other hand was pale and delicate and rather wore causal jeans and t-shirts than showing my femininity. Not that someone would care. I was sure that even in a more showy outfit, people would easily oversee me. I was too ordinary, too boring, too colorless.

No boy wanted to go to the school dance with me. Least of all Jackson Rippner. His words were only to humiliate me.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've already been asked to the dance" I lied calmly and turned around, clutching my scribbling pad to my body like a protective shield.

In the backround some of Jackson's friends raised their eyebrows or shot quick glances at each other and I could see that they were all thinking the same. "Yeah right"

My eyes flickered back to Jackson's and I forced myself not to flinch under his icy glare. He had the bluest eyes I had every seen. For many girls, they were the most breathtaking thing in the world, but for me they were just the cruelest.

"You're lying, Lisa" He stated and I could see that there was not a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. And he wanted me to know that. Jackson wasn't easily readable. Others only saw what he wanted them to see. If he decided to appear incapable of emotion then no one was able to interpret the closed expression in his eyes.

"I'm not!" I hissed lamely and thunked the door of my locker shut. Unlike him, I was very readable. Predictable too, maybe.

An arrogant smirk tugged at the corners of his full lips and he came closer, forcing me to press my back against the locker to avoid any body contact.

"Yes, you are" He whispered dangerously and despite the smirk on his lips I could hear his anger clearly. "And I don't like it when people lie to me!"

Under any other circumstances I might have laughed at his ridiculous words, but right now they sounded like a real thread. Escaping my conscious will, goose bumps erupted all over the skin of my arms and I quickly lifted my hands to my forearms to cover the little hairs standing up. No need to show Rippner that I was startled.

"Go out of my way!" I warned and shuffled a bit to the left to put some space between us, but he followed my movements.

"Say that you're sorry!" He demanded and the group of people behind him roared with laughter.

"Fuck you!" I spat and tried to move past him, but he took my shoulders and slammed me back into the locker. It didn't hurt but my eyes widened in shock.

"What's wrong, red?" He asked and tugged at one of my auburn curls, creating just the slightest pull on my scalp and I shivered at the use of the hated nickname he had given me once. Weeks, no month ago. In the beginning.

"Get out of the way, Ripper!" I replied, using the equally hated nickname I had created for him and finally managed to slip past him. Jackson Rippner. Jack the Ripper. Not very nice of his parents.

I tried hard to appear unimpressed, bored even, as I walked away, but Jackson's taunting comments, followed by the guffaw of his friends, made me increase the speed of my steps.

Someone bumped into me and I dropped my scribbling pad. Being forced to pick it up off the floor under Jackson's merciless eyes was the worst thing that could happen to me this day. Why wouldn't god concede some dignity to me?

Bending down I hastily grabbed the scribbling pad and straightened again, glad to be at everyone's eye level again. This way I was equal with the others, if only physically.

The corridor seemed longer than usually and the uninvolved eyes of students that had witnessed my encounter, followed me until I rounded the corner and paused, pressing my back against the wall like I pressed the scribbling pad against my chest. A shield in the back and the front.

Not enough, yet.

I felt my eyes burning with tears, but I didn't allow myself to cry. Every day the same torture.

Whatever I did to try to avoid him, nothing seemed to help. He was always right there, surrounded by a gaggle of friends, all ready to make sure my life was a living hell.

My vision blurred and I flew to the toilet, shutting myself in in one of the dirty cabins before somebody could see my cry. I hated this guy. I hated him.

I wished I had never met him. From day one he had been nothing but cruel, despiteous and ruthless.

_It happened on a sunny summer day, about 14 month ago. It was unnaturally hot that day and the airy shirt I wore already stuck to my skin, only downgrading my mood even more. I didn't like hot days, when all the girls wore particularly short skirts, showing even more skin than usually and popular pool party invitations worked a circuit each weekend, from which I never got one. I preferred the cold. When I could hide my self-consciousness behind thick, warm clothes. _

_Walls of fabric between me and the outside world. Save. _

_But back then the temperature left me absolutely no opportunity to hide my body with the excuse of coldness. And that was awful. _

_The only thing that cheered me up a bit was the ice-cold moccha from Starbucks I had bought during my free period. The cool plastic chilled my heated skin and I could almost taste the rich fluid running down my dry throat already. But I resisted the urge to down the whole thing right now and kept the drink for later. My next class maybe. Or the lunch break. Or..._

_I was immediately ripped out of my thoughts as a heavy weight crashed into me nearly knocking me over and making me fall down the stairs. The sweet flavor of chocolate filled my nostrils and I felt the contents of my Starbucks cup drench my shirt and run down my neckline._

_"Watch were you're going!" I exclaimed angrily and looked up at the culprit, who was busy with wiping away what little bit Moccha he had gotten onto his shirt, rather than offering an excuse to me._

_"Hey! I'm talking to you, idiot!" I groused, glad to be able to vent my pleen on someone. Surprised, the guy looked up and for a moment I was shocked at how handsome he was. Sharp, masculine facial features, soft, full lips and the bluest eyes I had ever seen._

_But still. He had ruined my Starbucks ice cool-down session. And I was expecting an apology_

_The guy however was not aware of any guilt and his beautiful eyes quickly narrowed to an icy stare. Now I noticed four other guys behind him, all staring at me with big, disbelieving eyes. His friends, obviously._

_"You ran into me!" I explained angrily, not impressed by the dark look he was giving me._

_"Oh really?" He said sarcastically and shot a quick glance at my completely ruined - and wet... oh geez... - shirt, before I crossed my arms over my chest._

_"Well, I'm sorry, sweetness" He continued and I saw an ambiguous smile playing around his lips. Behind him, one of his friends nudged the guy next to him and whispered something in his ear. The guy laughed._

_I couldn't believe that he had the nerve to call me a pet name. Right now not only his arrogance but also his ignorance to my obvious discomfort evoked a rebellious anger within me. This guy was no difference from the sport jerks of my year that everyone seemed to love. _

_"Listen, you jerk!" I began and he raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by my boldness. "Either you give me two dollars for the lost drink or you buy me a new one!" I demanded and the second those words left my lips, I knew it was a mistake._

_I knew this sort of guys. They didn't like it when someone else told them what to do. Especially not a girl._

„_And what if not?" He asked, his eyes daring me to be cheeky. He somehow intimidated me by this. Like he was trying to control me. _

„_Just get out of my way" I said, realizing that this conversation was reaching a ridiculous extent for a spilled drink. _

_But Ice-eye guy seemed to take a shine to arguing with me, because he made no attempt to follow my order. Well, maybe he was just looking for trouble. _

„_Hmm. Red's got a temper" He called over his shoulder to his friends, eying my hair colour. My eyebrows raised at the nickname. I felt offended somehow. _

„_Just shut up, you moron" I hissed and turned away from him, since he was still blocking my way, but the short moment I was still looking at him was enough for me to see the anger in his eyes. _

_I shivered. What a creep. _

„_Come on, Jackson, let's go back to class" I heard one of his friends say. _

„_Sure" Jackson replied and I believed to detect a hint of dissatisfaction under his nonchalance. I bit my lower lip, because knowing this sort of guys, I knew he would just need to have the final say. _

_And while I was ready for his words, the threatening undertone hit me harder than their actual meaning. _

„_We'll talk again."_

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><p>So here it is, friends. The first chapter. I hope it piqued your interest, so let me know what you think.<p>

.K


	2. Second Chapter

A.N: God, this took MUCH longer than I wanted to. Chapter 3 is almost finished though, so that won't take almost three weeks to upload, too. I can't describe how flattered I am by all of your reviews, really you're too good to me :)

Special thanks to my wonderful Beta Reader, Son-of-Puji :) You're really a brilliant writer and I'm so happy for your helpful suggestions and corrections. You really got a great idea of the characters and know exactly how to achieve a special atmosphere! Thank you so much for being the best beta reader.

Second Chapter

"Lisa!"

I flinched at the sound of my name and looked up from a bunch of papers I had been trying to sort, turning towards the direction of the voice. Craning my neck I immediately made out its source, a light red, almost orange-colored spot in the crowd of students that was quickly moving towards me. The closer it came, the better I got to see it, could make out the head and the red, wavy hair, the pale skin and finally the big eyes, oozing out of their sockets in excitement.

Bouncing up and down like an agitated puppy, Cynthia Prinze grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her, conspiratorially whispering in my ear. "You will not believe who's coming to my party tonight..." She made a dramatic break but I already saw the name dancing on her tongue, waiting to be vocalized, "Erik Williams!"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth as her voice peaked almost comically, her teeth connecting with her lower lips immediately after the two words slipped out, as if she'd just accidently revealed a secret.

Cynthia and I had been neighbors since she and her family had moved into the house across the street twelve years ago. We played together when we were kids, on the trampoline behind her house or under the lawn sprinkler in our garden, even met a few times to study for an exam, but that was as deep as it went.

"That's great, Cynthia. I'm telling you, he has a crush on you," I said a bit weakly and carelessly stuffed the papers into my folder.

Cynthia watched me for a moment, her bright smile wavering. "Are you sure you don't want to come, Leese?"

I sighed and leaned forward, hiding my face behind the door of my locker. "I'd really like to," I lied, "it's just... I have a few more things to do, and...," I broke off. It was a pathetic excuse, even I realized that, but what else was I supposed to say. _I'm sorry Cynthia, but I guess I'm just not cool enough to go to a party..._

"Oh Jesus, Leese. Forget school for one day, will you?" Cynthia scolded, obviously not happy with my pretext.

"Cynthia, I'm not sure..."

"You're coming to my party tonight, Leese. There's no discussing it!"

She lowered her brows in a feeble attempt to look sinister and I felt the acceptance forming on my lips. "Okay, fine."

An undefined sound of blitheness erupted from her throat and she jumped up and down, using my arm to support herself. "Oh my god, Leese! Tonight's gonna be awesome!"

My sigh went under in her overenthusiastic try to express her excitement and I watched her with quizzical skepticism, trying to push away the nagging feeling that, at least for me, tonight would be anything but awesome.

: :

It was shortly after nine when I arrived at Cynthia's house.

Her parents had always set a high value on having a beautiful garden, the most beautiful and biggest in the neighborhood, but even their garden couldn't swallow the humongous number of people that had showed up.

I crossed the living room and stepped out onto the patio, from which I had a nice overview of the entire place.

The extensive lawn was hidden under the colorful crowd of other students, some dancing to the earsplitting music that boomed out of the loud speakers to my right, some just standing around and talking to others, plastic cups or beer bottles in the hand. It was a miracle that the pool was still untouched, but I was sure that would change in the course of the evening.

It was incomprehensible to me how Cynthia had managed to invite so many people. I felt uncomfortable, being part of such a huge thing, surrounded by people - cool, popular people - that were just waiting for someone like me to slip.

The thought of leaving again had already taken hold, when Cynthia found me, deftly making her way through the crowd. She was dressed in a white dress and her long hair fell over her exposed shoulders, catching the last rays of the low sun, bringing out the orange and red in it. She looked fantastic and I couldn't help but look down at myself self-consciously. Lacking any clothes that could be described as sexy or flashy, I had opted for a plain blue skirt and a white top and had tied my hair back into a simple ponytail.

Standing next to Cynthia now, I felt horribly underdressed.

"I'm so glad you're here, Leese," she interrupted my train of thoughts with a million watt smile and hugged me tightly. "You look great."

I returned her smile, if not as brightly, and watched how she pulled down the seam of her dress that whipped dangerously high around her thighs. "Thanks. You look absolutely fantastic! Your dress is beautiful."

She smiled, obviously flattered by my unoriginal compliment, but she shrugged it off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, well... thanks. My aunt bought it for me last month. She lives in New York, you know?"

It was easy to engage in a conversation with Cynthia. She was a nice, companionable person and did most of the talking, so I eagerly listened, glad that I had some company.

Eventually, we began digging out old childhood memories and my chest ached with a sudden approach of nostalgia, only now realizing how much I missed those times, when everything had been so easy and unproblematic.

"Oh, there's Erik!" Cynthia fetched me back out of my self-pity and I scolded myself for being so overdramatic. Now was not the time to dwell on my misery.

"I should welcome him," she said self-confidently and tugged at her dress, shooting me a meaningful look. I silently swallowed down the disappointment as she hurried away, cleaving through the crowd.

As I watched how she approached the tall, dark-haired guy, I couldn't help but envy her self-confidence, the way she laughed and flipped her hair back. She seemed to have such a natural understanding of how to behave in the presence of a guy, like a sixth sense. Something I was surely lacking of.

I averted my eyes, throwing an exhausted glance at my watch. 9:51. Great. I had to stay at least until midnight, otherwise Cynthia would be aggrieved, so there were still more than two hours to kill.

I decided to stop by the table with the drinks that stood a bit desolated under a small tree in the left side of the garden.

I regarded the various bottles and flagons and quickly had to find out that - except for a lonely bottle of coke - all the drinks were alcoholic. A large bowl in the middle of the table seemed to be filled with fruit punch, but when I leaned down to smell at it, the biting scent of alcohol hit my nostrils and I leaned back, wrinkling my nose.

Feeling very out of place, I took a plastic cup and filled it with coke. I hated alcohol, hated the smell of it, the taste and what effect it could have on people. Losing control over my body and mind, just because some baneful liquid was obnubilating my mind, was something I certainly didn't wish for.

By now, the sun had disappeared completely and the trees that surrounded the garden absorbed the last beams of light, giving the sky the color of ink. I sauntered along the trees, my eyes travelling over the chains of lights that hung from the branches. The darkness seemed to swallow the fixations, making it look like the light bulbs were hovering above me and for a moment I was able to forget where I was and just relish in the beauty of the moment.

"Look who we got here."

I almost jumped out of my skin at the terribly familiar voice and jerked around, spilling out half of my coke.

And there he was, Jackson Rippner in all his glory, the dark hair swept out of the face casually, the icy eyes glinting maliciously. Behind him stood another senior student, Bradley Anderson, who I knew as Jackson's best friend, or -how I referred to him - his right hand. He was a tall, athletic guy with blond, wavy hair and a handsome face, even though there was always a trace of viciousness around the corner of his lips.

I was shocked into speechlessness.

As often as I ran into these guys at school, as unusual it was for me to meet them in my free time. And at a party of a friend, for god's sake! As far as I knew, Cynthia wasn't friends with any senior students.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, but it came out rather frightened.

"We're just enjoying ourselves, Red," Jackson answered.

They drew near and I looked around, exasperated by the fact that this area of the garden fulfilled all the clichés of a 'dark corner'. I was literally cut off from the rest of the party by their bodies, behind me nothing but trees and darkness.

"So, do that somewhere else!" I demanded. They exchanged an amused look, not hiding their glee about my unsettledness.

"But it's so nice here, with you," Jackson said seductively and I fought back a shudder. "I wouldn't have expected you on a party, Red. I mean, did anyone really invite you or did you creep in?"

Against my will, I felt hurt at his words, which only affirmed what I already knew: I didn't belong here.

"Cynthia invited me!" I spat and to my delight, Jackson seemed mildly surprised.

"Cynthia?" he asked. "Is that the overenthusiastic red head, who throws this party?"

His description hit the nail on the head, but I focused on the more important thing. Beating this snobby bastard over his head - if only mentally. "Wow, you seem to know a lot about the host. Who's creeping in now?"

The exposure barely felt like a triumph, but surprisingly seemed to displease Jackson. Stepping closer, he invaded my personal space, leaving Bradley behind, who still stood a few feet away from me.

Jackson wasn't close enough to let me feel his body heat yet, but the mere fact that he was using his proximity to unsettle me made my breath hitch. It had something very demoralizing that he showed no reluctance to intimidate me with physical involvement.

"We don't need an invitation, Lisa." The use of my real name only intensified the feeling of being harried, the warning signs that screamed 'inappropriate'. I wondered what made him so obsessed about hassling me.

"Unlike you, we're always welcome."

That hurt. Not the actual words, but the bitter truth behind them, the fact that I had been trying to fight off, that very thought since the moment I arrived at the party.

"Get out of my way!" I demanded. Jackson quirked an eyebrow, but unexpectedly obeyed. Only now did I notice that I had crushed the plastic cup in my hand, the sticky content running over my fingers.

_Everything is fine. Nothing happened_, I said to myself, trying to shake off the previous encounter. _They don't mean anything._

"What would you want here, really?" Jackson shouted after me. "Talk with all your nonexistent friends? Dance with someone? As if anyone would ask you! You're dispensable. A nothing. No one cares whether you're here or not."

My steps didn't even slow down at his words and with my back to him I thought it was a comparatively dignified leaving. I focused on keeping a relaxed body posture, rather than trying to gulp down the constriction in my throat; a foreboding of the tears that certainly were to come.

Going home now would ruin my faked composure, but I was unable to stay in this garden any longer. Not when he lingered around here and when there was the constant danger of running into him or one of his friends again. So, I sheepishly absconded, glad that my house was right around the corner.

I sneaked in my room, unnoticed. Right now, I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. Or answer uncalled-for questions of my mother, explaining why I was home already. I undressed and slipped into my bed, exhausted and dead tired despite the early time.

And pressing my pillow over my head to block out the loud music from across the street, I finally fell asleep.


	3. Third Chapter

**A.N: Sorry for the long waiting time, guys, I've been on vacation to England. Oxford, yay! Again, I can't tell you how flattered I am by the enormous amount of reviews I am getting with this story. I hope I didn't let you wait to long with this... **

**Special thanks to my super deluxe Beta Reader, Son-of-Puji. You really helped me A LOT with this chapter and added some fantastic ideas. This story wouldn't be half as good without you, I guess. And you better get used to the annoying Special Thanks at the beginning of each chapter, because I won't stop writing them! ;) **

Third Chapter

A warm breeze hit my face and loosened some strands of hair from my messy side-bun and I licked my lips, tasting the salt.

Inhaling deeply, my muscles slowly relaxed as the familiar scent of the sea filled my nostrils. It was something that reminded me of childhood, of family getaways to the beach and picnic in the sand. The romantic side of my father had always required as many family-friendly adventures as . So when I was younger, he'd used to take us to a different place almost each weekend, trying to satisfy his insatiable thirst of showing the world - if only limited to the closer environment at that time - to his kids.

The salty scent got stronger. A few seconds later the road rounded the corner of a small cliff and the steel blue sea came into view.

The road narrowed the further I drove, like it had been squeezed into the small space between the cliffs to my right and the seaside to my left. With the wind in my back and a clear view on the way in front of me it was a relaxing drive by bike, not too long, not too short, just the right length to release some frustration without getting too exhausted.

I almost jumped off my bike as I reached the small trail of sand that led towards a narrow beach at the foot of raw cliffs.

This place looked like it never had been touched by human hands at all. I knew that there were much more impressive places in the world, but right here I always felt like I was laying my eyes on something special. Real nature so to speak.

I carelessly threw my bike into the sand, not bothering to lock it or take it with me. No one ever came here, so there was no danger of somebody stealing it.

Reaching down, I freed my feet from my shoes and walked the rest of the way barefoot, enjoying the heated sand under my sole.

Despite the heat, the sky was clouded, the light tinting the bay in grey. I sat down near the water, my back against a rock, and searched my bag for my scribbling pad.

Watching the waves roll towards the beach, I put the pencil onto the paper and carefully drew the first line. Drawing was probably the only thing I was good at, and although I didn't consider my work as art, I was proud of it.

It was like a miracle cure to be here, every pencil stroke making my day a little bit better. Sometimes I was sure that fate had led me to this place to make up for something. Or was it by chance that I had found this haven a few weeks after Jackson had started to make my life a living hell?

I sighed and lifted my gaze from the paper to the sea, gleefully watching as a shy ray of sunlight peered through the thick cover of clouds across the sky and drew a sparkling trail on the water.

I felt like swimming, felt like diving into the water that twinkled and glistered so beautifully, but I hadn't brought any swimming togs and really wasn't the girl to go skinny dipping. So instead I hugged my legs to my chest and closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander to a different place, a different time.

When I opened them again I realized I'd fallen asleep and unsure how much time had passed I gathered my things and left the beach.

: :

A lazy fly settled down on my desk and I watched with tired eyes how it rubbed its front legs together to clean them.

Suppressing a sigh, I looked up from the insect and tried to concentrate on the lesson instead. I usually liked math and achieved good grades, but today I wasn't able to listen to Mr. McDean's monotone voice and his endless explanations about trigonometric functions. I let my gaze wander through the class instead, paused here and there to examine the hair line of someone and contemplate whether they should have their roots done or not, but the activity quickly palled.

So I spontaneously decided to ask Mr. McDean if I could use the bathroom and - feeling _oh so naughty _for making up an excuse to leave the lesson earlier - left the class room.

The non air-conditioned school corridor hit me with its full merciless weight of 86°F and it was so muggy I could barely breathe. On my way to the exit I only stopped by my locker to get my scribbling pad not very keen on spending more time in this airless school building than necessary.

The math lesson would be over in a few minutes anyway and I had taken my things with me, so there was no reason to go back. I was a good student - very good to be precise: polite, quiet and attentive (teachers loved me, which could not be told about my school mates) - and Mr. McDean liked me, so I doubted he would mind if I didn't come back.

I was a girl who valued the small things and if those things were a few extra minutes of a sunny afternoon, I would appreciate them. Unfortunately, fate yet again seemed hell-bent on spoiling the day for me.

"Whoa, what's the rush, Red?" I stopped dead on my tracks as I heard the familiar voice terrifyingly close to my left side and slowly lifted my head.

"Why can't you give me one day off?" I murmured to myself and blew some strands of hair out of my face. Had I asked to leave the class room ten seconds earlier or walked faster, I would have been spared this encounter.

But I didn't; I didn't ask ten seconds earlier and I didn't walk faster and now I had to deal with the consequences.

And the consequences were standing right there, casually leaning against a locker to my left. Jackson Rippner grinned and his eyes flashed mischievously as he ran his eyes up and down me.

"Nice dress," he commented and I automatically looked down at me. I wore a simple, light red jersey dress with short sleeves and a skirt that ended right above the knees.

I remembered how I had fought with myself in the morning whether I should wear it or not, torn between the increasing temperature and the wish to be a bit more covered but in the end my mother had convinced me to wear it. She found most of my clothes too unfeminine and had happily welcomed the alternative. She had been the one who'd bought me the dress in first place.

Now, I regretted listening to her.

"Thanks," I said in a sickly sweet voice and started walking away from him. Jackson, however, didn't seem to be done yet, because he easily caught up with me and pranced around me, blocking my way.

"What do we have here?"

Before I could react, he snatched the scribbling pad from me. "No!" I exclaimed and moved to get it back, but he held it over his head, out of my reach.

"Give it back!"

Jackson gave a barking laugh and held me at an arm's length away from him as he opened the scribbling pad and searched through it. Icy fear gripped my heart as I saw the malicious glimmer in his eyes.

What if he would rip out some sides, or worse - rip the whole thing in two? I felt horribly vulnerable as I watched him study my sketches, unable to do anything but crossing my arms in front of my chest and giving him a dark look.

Jackson was still skimming through the scribbling pad and for a moment I thought to see something flicker in his eyes, before it was replaced by a sneer.

"Aww, what's this?" he asked in a mock, sweet voice and turned the scribbling pad around so I could see what he was looking at.

Heat crept into my face and painted my cheeks red as my eyes ran over the drawing that showed two people kissing. Nothing too sexual, nothing too intimate, but surely a sketch I didn't want to share with Jackson Rippner of all people.

"So this is how good girls live out their fantasies?" Jackson asked bemused and I thought I'd die in shame.

"It's nothing like that!" I hissed and finally managed to pull the scribbling pad away from him, pressing it against my chest.

"I have to say you surprise me, Leese," he continued and I cringed at the nickname. Jackson knew damn well that only my friends and family were supposed to call me that, two categories he surely didn't count to. "Always considered you to be a prude. Guess you're not as innocent as you act like."

"Shut up!" I growled, embarrassed. "It was just a sketch, I didn't have any..." Unconsciously, I lowered my voice, "sexual thoughts."

For a second he was speechless, before the corners of his mouth pulled up into a sneer, but that second was enough for me to realize how stupid and childish my words sounded.

So, feeling the need to distract from my own person and change the direction of his attention to himself, I quickly added, "At least, I don't feel the need to screw a new girl each weekend, just to prove myself how sought-after I am."

The amused smirk that had already started to develop into a full sneer died on his lips and his jaw muscle twitched dangerously. A small step was enough and he closed the gap between us, standing inches away from me and I found myself trapped between his body and a locker. Again.

"Oh, don't worry about that..." he whispered and his words almost got swallowed by the bell that announced the ending of sixth period. "You'll probably stay a virgin forever. I mean who would want you?"

My face heatened up to the point of painful, but I could only stare at him in response. My head was trying to sort out the different emotions, going from surprising hurt his words evoked within me to disbelief that he dared to say something as inappropriate - and below the belt - as this, until it finally ended in open irritation that I even cared to further dwell on his words.

"Better being a virgin than be touched by you!" I snarled witheringly and I believed to see his eyes darken momentarily, but it was gone in a heartbeat.

"I know a lot of girls who would surely disagree," he said with an overconfident smile on his face that made me sick to my stomach.

"You're pathetic," I breathed out and it was all I managed to say to him at the moment. Words couldn't describe how much contempt I felt towards him in this very minute, how low he'd just fallen in my eyes that he dared to bring up a topic as intimate and private as that, something that wasn't his business. I'd known that he was arrogant, but it still startled me how ruthless he was sometimes. Thinking logically about it however, it wasn't a surprise.

Jackson seemed to read my thoughts, because his upper lip curled dangerously, baring his teeth and he looked like a starved animal, a wolf maybe, ready to attack.

Then he reached out and I gasped as he touched my chin, just briefly, with the tip of his thumb, making goose bumps erupt all over my neck and shoulders, while his eyes bore into mine. "You think you're so smart, don't you? But let me tell you something: you're nothing but a stupid, little bitch and your pretty mouth won't get you anything but trouble if you don't stop that cocky attitude of yours."

The patronizing tone didn't cover the hatred in his voice and I shuddered, breaking away from him.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw people spilling out of the classrooms and flooding the corridor, but I barely noticed them. My mind was occupied with the scene that unfolded between Jackson and me. His eyes bore into mine and for a moment, 3 seconds maybe, he was so close that I could feel his breath on my face, smell the offensive odor of nicotine from the cigarette he had apparently smoked recently, mingled with the scent of peppermint gum.

The feeling that ascended within me could have been mistaken as fear - and for the fraction of a second I was sure it was - but it was something that went much deeper; repulsion. A bitter taste filled my mouth and I felt like spitting it right into his smug face, making him feel the loathing and the disgust that was all his work, all his fault.

Finally, with a dismissive flicker of his thumb, he turned my chin to the side, my face away from him, as if he couldn't bear to look at me any longer.

Only when his body left my personal space, did I release the breath I had been holding.

I took a few seconds to rearrange, to reorientate myself, pulling the skirt of my dress down and smoothing the fabric almost defiantly, as if to prove my superiority, even if Jackson was already gone. Then, with paying no attention to the other students - or their curious looks, which I knew were there - I let out a trembling sigh and left the building.

: :

I shoved my bike into the gateway of our house, sweat shining on my face.

It was a murderously hot day and the air that hung between the ocher houses in the street seemed to stand still. A few kids in swimsuits braved the heat and were having a water fight, splashing each other with squirt guns and water balloons and I watched them wistfully, feeling like taken back to my own childhood. The sun, however, urged me to keep moving, so I took my bag from the carrier of my bike and hurried into the house.

Inside, I was greeted with the wonderful humming of the air-conditioner and I breathed in deeply, letting the cool air fill my nostrils and chill my heated body.

"I'm home!" I shouted.

"I'm upstairs, honey," replied my mother and I could hear the hectic rush in her voice. She was a live wire, always full of pent-up energy, and needed at least two occupations at one time to release that energy.

"Henry? Are you home?" I called.

"Yeah," my older brother answered curtly, much quieter and calmer than my mom and I followed the sound of his voice to the living room.

"Hey," he greeted me and looked up from a book he was reading for Spanish class. I settled down on the arm chair next to him and watched him for a while, his head that was hunkered over the book, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Henry was pale and tall and appeared - despite his masculine build - pretty delicate, the dark circles under his eyes adding a ghostly touch to his face. He wasn't a particularly talkative guy, but he knew the right things to say at the right times and always was a great listener.

My other brother, James, had already moved out a good year ago to study medicine in London. I just hoped that Henry, who was 18, wouldn't move out so quickly after graduation, too. He was - next to my father - my closest confidant and I felt connected to him through a bond that went beyond being brother and sister.

"What are you reading?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Something for Spanish class. But I don't get any of this." He lifted his eyes off the page and gave me a scrutinizing look.

"How was school?"

"Good," I lied and forced myself to smile. I knew that Henry wouldn't believe me, but he wasn't one to ask unwanted questions. So he merely raised his eyebrows and we fell silent again, he engrossed in his book, I engrossed in my thoughts.

Eventually, it was my mother who broke the silence.

"Leese, honey. How was school?"

_As shitty as always,_ I thought. "Okay," I said.

"Are you excited about tomorrow?"

I bit back a groan. I had completely forgotten about the dance tomorrow. To which I hadn't been invited by anyone. I couldn't think of the abasement of having to show up there alone, especially not after I had boastfully announced that I had already been asked out to Jackson.

"Absolutely," I muttered, voice drenched with sarcasm, which my over-enthusiastic mother failed to hear. Henry, however, didn't and I could feel his searching gaze on me. It felt uncomfortable, feeling the unspoken question linger in the room, while having to pretend everything was normal.

I didn't like talking about the situation at school. In fact, I'd never talked about it to my family at all. They knew I was pretty much of a loner, but I guessed they were blaming it on puberty.

"I bought you a dress for the dance, honey," mom continued cheerfully, oblivious to my absence of mind. "I put it in your room, on your bed. I know you hate it when I buy clothes for you, but your dresses just don't fit a big event like that!"

The tone of her voice - the tone pitch especially - spoke volumes. My mother considered the school dance not only a big event, but one of the most incisive events of my young days and it was beyond all questions for her that I wouldn't go. Wouldn't want to go. And the last thing I wanted was to crush her expectations in me. It was hard enough for her that I didn't share her fondness for pretty dresses.

"You're a life saver!" I announced with fake relief and was pleased to see that she seemed to swallow the lie.

"I sure am," she agreed, satisfied.

"Well, then... I'll go upstairs and try it on," I said, happy about the excuse. Mom had already occupied herself again - with rearranging the picture frames on the mantelshelf for the hundredth time - and nodded curtly in reply, but Henry wouldn't let me off the hook that easily. While not communicating with me vocally, he let me know with a single raise of his eyebrows that we would talk later again. Obviously, my previous flam hadn't been very convincing.

As I left the living room, I couldn't help but wonder how the dress would look like.

It wasn't that my mom had a bad taste. She knew how to dress well and always looked nicely, but I couldn't quite identify with the flashy dresses she usually picked for me. I preferred to stay incognito as much as possible in school and her choice of colors and cuts she usually picked for me made that impossible most of the time. And after Jackson's remark about my dress today, I felt even more uncomfortable about myself.

I pushed open the door to my room and immediately spotted the prolate box on my bed.

I closed the door and neared the bed, regarding the black and white carton like an alien. Carefully I took off the top and placed it on the bed. Inside the box was a neatly folded, midnight blue dress. I lifted it out of the box and unfolded the silky fabric, holding the dress out in front of me. I felt enormously relieved when I saw that it was - contrary to my expectations - pretty plain. The dress was midnight blue and knee-length.

Stripping out of my clothes, I put on the dress and turned in front of the mirror.

"Oh, mom," I whispered. "Thank you."

It fitted perfectly. At least one thing I wouldn't have to worry about anymore. The only problem was that I still needed a date for tomorrow. My smile faded.

With a sigh, I sat down on the bed and pulled the empty box onto my lap. What use was a nice dress, if there was no one to look at me. The only attention I would probably get, was Jackson's sneer. I abruptly stood up and started pacing the room, suddenly feeling very squirrelly. What had I gotten myself into?

For a few minutes, I seriously considered to sham illness tomorrow and not go, before I quickly dismissed the idea. Jackson wasn't stupid. He would know that I had lied to him and he would make sure that everybody found out about it. No, there was no way I would let him have that satisfaction. The only thing that was worse than going to the dance was to not go at all.

"Looks like we don't have a choice," I said downheartedly to my dress and balled the fabric in my fist.

I would go to the dance, sit in the corner of the room for the whole evening and tell my mom how much fun my first school dance had been, afterwards. _Sounds like a plan_, I thought and stopped in front of the mirror. "I'm doomed."

For a second, I could've sworn I had seen my mirror image nod.


	4. Fourth Chapter

**Sorry for the long waiting time, I hardly find the time to write under the week, so I mostly do it on weekends. Thanks for your patience, guys and I can't tell you how much I appreciate your reviews. **

**This chapter was a tough one to write and I hope that it meets your expectations. **

**Once again, special thanks to my beta, son-of-puji. You do not only correct my mistakes, but you also have incredible insight of the characters and give great advice. I can't wish for anyone else to beta this story and delight me with your amazing comments. I hope I haven't left one in the chapter this time, like last time. **

Fourth Chapter

I jolted out of sleep to the wheezing sound of the wind outside.

My heart pounded rapidly against my ribcage in the aftershock of a disturbing dream I couldn't remember anymore. Wiping the sweat from my upper lip, I anxiously freed myself from the sheet and threw a glance at my alarm clock. 4:30 a.m. Rain drummed against my window from outside.

My throat was dry and my head hurt from the lack of sleep, but I was way too anxious to fall asleep again, so I decided to take a shower.

As quiet as possible I left my room and tiptoed down the hall towards the bathroom. Carefully, I closed the door behind me and quickly undressed. I stole a glance at the mirror and instantly regretted it; my reflection resembled a small, strained-eyed ghost, with slack, unruly hair and skin so pale that it was almost transparent. It was beyond me how anyone could stay so white in Miami.

Downhearted, I stepped into the shower. I shivered under the stream of cold water before it turned hot, steaming up the glassy shower walls. I leaned my head back and let the water hit my face. It soothed my headache and revived my animal spirits and soon I was humming a light melody, massaging shampoo into my scalp. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad.  
>I rinsed my hair and brushed the foam over my naked body, washing away the sweat.<p>

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. It was miraculous what a nice shower could do to me in the morning. The hot water had turned my skin a bright pink and the dark circles under my eyes had disappeared. Buoyed, I reached for the toothbrush and began to get ready for the day.

: :

The rain had stopped and all signs of a storm had disappeared.

The atmosphere at school had been unusually delighted and cheerful. Most people were excited about the dance tonight, and - for a change - minded their own business. After sixth period, I ran into Jackson among a group of other senior students, but to my surprise he'd obstinately ignored me. It was a pleasant change from the usual snide remarks.

School was out for today.

I crossed the large yard in front of the main building. The ground was covered with leaves in all colors, red, brown, yellow, orange. The Fall was just around the corner.

I reached my bike. I placed my bag on the carrier and began to fumble with the combination lock, when something caught my eye. There, stuck just beneath the handlebar was a little piece of paper.

With a sinking feeling I ripped it off and unfolded it. Something small fell out of it and hit the ground with a metallic sound. I bent down to search for the object, but stopped abruptly when my eyes fell onto the writing inside the paper.

_For the little virgin._

I stared at the letters, the handwriting that was so obviously Jackson's and tried to decide whether I should feel humiliated or disdainful. Whatever it was he had put inside this paper, I didn't want to find it anymore. And still I crouched down and felt around on the ground, driven by curiosity, until my fingers touched something small and cool.

I lifted it off the ground and straightened. It was a small ring. I brought it closer to my eye and made out an inscription, that was stamped into the silvery surface of the ring. _'Purity. Real love waits'_, it said.

I scornfully stared at the cheap ring. "Pathetic," I sneered.

I reached back to throw the ring as far away from me as possible, but then hesitated. It was probably the only thing he was expecting me to do. And I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being predictable.

"Fuck you, Jackson," I growled harshly and dug the ring into my pocket.

My bike still leaned innocently against the bicycle rack as if nothing had happened and I angrily thrust up the kickstand, wreaking my anger on the unblamable object. My good mood was gone. I didn't want to ponder over why Jackson's behavior offended me so deeply. It was nothing but childish in my eyes. Actually, the mere thought of him running around to find a stupid purity ring should give me satisfaction.

But it didn't.

Because somewhere along his usual attacks he had managed to strike a nerve. Probably unconsciously.

: :

"_Ouch_! Mum!"

My mother jerked her hand away and my fingers flew up to my temple, where the curling iron had burned my skin.

"Sorry, sweetheart," she apologized and continued to twirl another strand of my hair. "But it'll be worth it."

I watched her work in the mirror and seriously doubted that. To me, my hair did not look much different than before, but I let my mother have her fun and endured the dress up.

"Voilà!" mum said happily and tucked my hair behind my ear on one side. I reached up to touch it, but she slapped my hand away. "Rule number one: don't touch!"

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, mum. Thank you."

My mother beamed. Obviously I looked different in a way only she seemed to notice. I got off the chair and allowed her to put mascara onto my eyelashes and apply powder on my skin. When she reached for the lipstick, I shook my head.

"No need to overdo, mum. I don't want to look like a baby prostitute."

She pouted, but put the lipstick away. I self-consciously checked my appearance in the mirror. As far as I could tell, I was looking fine.

"Oh, honey, you look gorgeous," my mother assured me, catching my look. Her dreamy expression changed into something more desperate as she looked me up and down and she whined. "Honey, please let me drive you to the dance. You're going to ruin your hair if you go by bike!"

I laughed at the despair in her voice. Laughed, but also felt a prickle of unease at the thought of her driving me to the dance. The last thing I wanted was my mother to see me going to the dance. It would probably break her heart to realize that no one cared for my appearance.

"Really, mom, I'd rather take my bike. Nobody gets delivered by their parents, anymore."

That argument seemed to convince her. God bless puberty, for once.

"Well, I should go, then," I said. Mom threw an incredulous look at her watch. "Now? It's only half past seven. It's still light outside!"

"Mum, it doesn't get dark before ten o'clock. Do you want me to be the last one to arrive?"

By the way she was looking at me, I could tell that she wanted me to do just that.

"Well, you could make a great appearance that way."

I moaned. Did she want me to replay Cinderella? "It's fine, really. I will anyway," I hushed her and wondered about the effortless way the lie slipped from my lips.

My mother sighed. "Well, then, I guess I have to let you go," she said and sounded like I was about to move to another city.

"Wait, let me take a picture of you!"

I groaned. I didn't need a picture on the wall to remind me of this day. But my mother was irresistible and like a hurricane she sped through the house to get the camera. I took the time to go down and put on my shoes - flats, no matter how long my mother had tried to palm high heels off on me.

"Smile, sweetie," mum said cheerfully.

I simpered and the flash of the camera blinded me. Mum looked satisfied as she checked the picture on her camera.

"Oh, honey, I can't believe how quickly you grew up!"

_Oh, geez._I really didn't want this to degenerate into a crisis about all of her children growing up. I knew that mum still couldn't believe that James had moved out, and had problems with grasping the fact that Henry was to follow soon.  
>I grabbed my jeans jacket - a little too big, a little too sloppy, but so very comfortable - and put it on. Time to go.<p>

"Bye, mum," I said and ignored the glint of nostalgia in her eyes.

"Bye, sweetie. Have fun."

I nodded and then I was out of the door.

: :

When I arrived at the school, it still looked like broad day outside. The evening sun threw colorful blankets onto the lawn in front of the school and the sky was cloudless. As I headed to the gym, I almost felt a little regretful of being inside on such a beautiful evening.

The main entrance was decorated with brightly-colored balloons and a huge banner over the doors encouraged the students to go inside and have a good time. I went in, past a few groups of juniors that mixed vodka into their fruit bowl, and walked towards the gym. I was very nervous now. The noise was getting louder the closer I came, and despite my early arriving I already heard a lot babble of voices over the music.

I reached the entrance to the gym. It was already full and crowded, although half of the students hadn't arrived yet. Most of the people were dancing on the improvisatory dance floor, some were standing at the sides, trying to have a conversation. I scanned the crowd for Cynthia, feeling lost. I felt terribly out of place. Relief flooded my chest, when I found Cynthia in the backmost part of the hall.  
>She stood at the side of the dance floor, one foot tapping lightly to the music, with a plastic cup in her right, and a cell phone in her left hand. She was talking to Julia, a girl from our year.<p>

Without hesitation, I began to make my way through the crowd, toward them. Cynthia spotted me, when I was about ten feet away from them. "HEY, LISA!" she screamed cheerfully and a few people in her immediate vicinity turned around toward her. I wondered if those guys had put something in her drink as well. After all, it wasn't even eigh p.m yet.

"Lisa!" she greeted me, fortunately in a quieter voice than before. "Lisa, I'm so glad to see you! You look amazing, Lisa! Wow!"

I smiled and nodded towards Julia, who seemed less pleased to see me than Cynthia.

"I gotta go," she said to Cynthia and gave me a look as if I had a contagious disease. She wore a pretty little, black dress that was just a nocht too tight around her buttocks, and as she teetered off, I realized that it was probably on purpose. The boys loved her.  
>I looked at Cynthia, who wore a pretty, green button dress, and grinned.<p>

"Seems like I frightened her off," I said, "Sorry for that!"

Cynthia shrugged. "She's just jealous because your dress isn't two sizes too small for you. She's a bitch anyway, thinking she could look better than me."

For a moment, Cynthia seemed shocked by her own words and flashed me a look, but then the moment was gone and a burst of laughter erupted from her. I was now sure that she had drunken alcohol. Somehow that bothered me. At least Cynthia could have eluded the peer pressure of our little high school society.

I looked around and spotted Jackson in the crowd. He wore a simple dark blue suit and his hair was swept back casually, just like it had been on Cynthia's party. Vanessa Brown, a popular girl from my year, was glued to his side and clawed her fingers in the expensive fabric of his sleeve possessively. Jackson was talking to Bradley, who caught my line of view and looked back at me. A short moment, then he leaned closer to Jackson and whispered something. Jackson turned around and regarded me.

Shocked, I watched as his face contorted in unhidden anger and I frowned with confusion. What was he so upset about? That I had dared to come here after all?

He broke eye contact, much to my relief, and looked down at Vanessa. To my surprise she looked even more pissed-off than he. She hissed something at him, which Jackson dismissed with a gruff wave of his hand. I was puzzled. I had very much expected him to come over and ask me about my date.

I turned back to Cynthia. She was talking to Eric, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. I sighed. Two's company, three's a crowd. Apparently, I had to survive this evening alone.

Scuffling towards the table with the drinks felt like a terrible déjà vu.

I whiled away a few minutes by standing in the line in front of the drinks and killed the next ten minutes by slowly sipping my drink. To say that I was unhappy with how the evening had turned out would be an understatement.  
>I smashed my plastic cup down onto the table next to me with an exasperated sigh. This was stupid. I didn't see a point in staying here, if there was no one to notice it anyway. I could just as well leave. I silently wondered what I should tell my mum, when I came home three hours early than expected.<p>

Having reached that decision, I determined began to make my way through the crowd. At the exit I saw Jackson watching me and I cast him a challenging glare. _Come on_, I thought, _come here and say what you want to say. Give me a reason to leave_.

But to my disappointment, he turned around and - without one further glance at me - disappeared into the crowd. I scowled angrily and left the gym.

Outside, the number of students, who mixed alcohol into their drinks or secretly smoked a cigarette, had increased. Feigning ignorance, a teacher leaned against the main entrance and sipped his nonalcoholic looking beverage. Even the teachers bowed under the peer pressure of the students. Or at least, this one did.

It was still light outside, the sinking sun tinting the environments in an orange light. My feeling of haughtiness was subdued by the fact that I didn't even manage to stay longer than twenty minutes. I hesitated as I pulled my bike out of the bicycle rack. I didn't want to go home, yet. I felt like driving to the beach. In fact, I almost always felt like going there.

As I sat on my bike I realized that I wasn't really dressed properly for this - in a flimsy dress and a not too thick jeans jacket. I didn't care. The worst thing that could happen was getting a cold.

I drove fast, leaving the school building behind me. How long would it take me from here to the beach? Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe? If I took a shortcut through the forest, probably only ten. As I turned around the corner, I drove to the other side of the street and into the forest. It was beautiful here. The colored leaves caught the sun beams and the light was yellow, red, orange, all around me as I dashed through the wood.

A sudden halt stopped my drive abruptly.

I got hurled from my bike and landed on the ground, the leaves softening my landing. Feeling like an idiot, I grinded out a curse and sat up. My palms burned and I found them dirty and scraped as I looked at them. My bike lay a few feet away from me, the back wheel still spinning accusingly. The front wheel was caught under the thick roots of a tree. I straightened and brushed off the dirt from my dress, before I examined my bike. To my dismay, the front wheel was completely out of shape and deformed.

As I bent down to wrench it free, I had to realize that it was stuck. I joggled it desperately, with the only result that the front wheel distorted even further. A fatal sounding noise let me drop it, not wanting to damage it any further.

"Shit," I cursed loudly and looked around, gauging how much distance I had already crossed. Perhaps it would be better to go home and get help. Thrusting my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I stumped through the underwood, on foot this time.

"A shortcut through the forest," I muttered to myself as I reached a small clearing. "Worst idea, ever... asking for trouble."

A rustling noise behind me made me look up. Maybe someone was there to help me. I turned around. "Hello?"

No answer. Disappointed, I turned back and continued walking. Probably an animal. As I clenched my fist inside my pocket, I felt something warm and wet inside my palm. I pulled my hands out and examined them. The scrapes had started to bleed and I cursed under my breath. I carefully tried to wipe the dirt off on my jacket and flinched at the sting.

Suddenly, I was shoved hard from behind.

I fell down, face first, and smacked my forehead against a protruding root. I yelped when I was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and rolled onto my back. Instinctively, I flailed my arms and my hand his hit something, warm, fleshly. For a second I thought it was an animal, when I caught sight of an obviously human face. It belonged to a man, big and brawny and older than me - mid-thirties, maybe - and I screamed. A sweaty palm covered my mouth and nose and muffled my scream, making it hard to breathe.

I twisted around and was yanked by the hair in return. Reality had set in, that this was not an animal, that this was exactly the horror situation little children were warned off. Never speak to strangers, never get in a strange car, never go into the forest alone. I had visited a self-defense course, something about how to free yourself when somebody attacks you from behind. Elbow in the ribs and kick on the foot, as hard and painful as possible. Don't try to handle him alone, run away and get help immediately. It was no use to me now.

I kicked out, hitting something hard and I heard a grunt. His voice was deep and thick. It was enough to escape his hand momentarily and I screamed out, rolling to the side to get him off me. A punch slammed into my sternum, and my mouth fell open as I tried to suck air into my lungs.

The cold edge of a knife against my throat made me go still.

"Don't move," the attacker sneered. My eyes rolled back in my head and I wondered if I would pass out.

I snapped out of it as I felt him yank my skirt up. "No!" I breathed out.

The sound of a belt being unbuckled, the metallic rattling of a zipper. Then it hurt. Badly.

I threw my head back and stifled a scream, gaping at the pain. He penetrated me, hastily, needily, ripping, tearing, opening me up. My legs flailed ungainly and he grabbed them to hold me still, the knife temporarily leaving my throat.

I used the opportunity to bring up my fists and beat blindly at him, but he pushed me back into the ground with his weight. I felt the knife again, lower this time, and I heard fabric tearing and felt it, too. Felt how my skin was ripped open by the blade. Felt the warmth gush over my chest.

A raw sob escaped my throat as he began to move inside me. He shoved, violently, splitting me apart. This couldn't be happening. Shouldn't be happening. Not like this. Not the first time.

Tears ran into my hair as I shook with his force. My back scraped over the little stones under the leaves with every movement and I was forced to feel him touching me, my thighs, neck, breasts. His lips pressed against my throat and nausea flooded my stomach.

A grunt. "You smell good."

I tasted bile and swallowed to get the sour taste out of my mouth.

I didn't know how much time had passed, when he suddenly went rigid over me. He collapsed on top of me and I felt something warm and wet between my legs. I didn't move anymore. I couldn't. He laid on me for what seemed like an eternity, panting his release into my ear, until he finally lifted himself off me and pulled out.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the rustling sound of him getting dressed again. He was saying something, threatening me, "_if you tell anyone, I'll kill you"_, but I hardly heard it. I felt my heart beat against my ribs and imagined the gash on my skin getting bigger and bigger with each heave of my chest.

I was alone now. I remained lying on the ground, listening to the gentle sound of the forest around me. My eyes were closed and I had no will to open them. To face reality.

_Maybe I'll die, _I thought.

The pain wasn't getting better, but I didn't mind so much anymore. I was feeling lightheaded. The loss of blood was probably getting to me. I remained lying on the ground and realizing that I would probably die here and I didn't care. I thought about my parents and about Henry, thought about how it would hurt them and I decided to at least try to get up.

And just then, as I opened my eyes, the world around me went black.


	5. Fifth Chapter

**I can't tell you, how amazed I am by your overwhelming reviews, guys! I had no idea that this story would appeal to so many of you, and it of course pleases me to no end! *love* **

**But this story wouldn't be half as good without my beta, son-of-puji. Those who have read _Uprooted, _or_ Cruise Control, _or_ Sequence of wronge Choices _know what an amazing writer she is. Thanks for all your patience, all the time you spend with this and the effort you put in it! You're comments are always constructive and incredibly insighting! You know my characters better than I do, I think. Hugs and kisses, hun! (and I sincerly hope I didn't leave any of your comments in again :D That would pretty much destroy the atmosphere, I was trying to create :P) **

**And to you guys, thank you! a thousand times, for all your reviews. **

* * *

><p>Fifth Chapter<p>

Jackson's POV

The smell of sweat, cheap deodorant and perfume was overwhelming as we entered the school gym. It was already crowed with students.

Sharp nails bore into the skin of my arm and I hissed, suppressing the urge to pull my arm away. Looking down, I met the phony smile of my date, Vanessa, who had just effectively pinned herself to my arm. Slightly irritated by her possessive behavior, I averted my eyes, looking around for Bradley. He was nowhere in sight. Vanessa tugged at my arm, obviously not pleased by not being the focus of my attention for a second and I turned back to her, face a mask.

It was still early, but I was happy to get away from home as often as possible. Even if that meant showing up on this stupid school ball at seven o'clock. Vanessa was saying something - which meant that she raised on her toes, put her mouth very close to my ear and turned her voice down to a seductive whisper - and I nodded absently. It was something about the storage room being all cozy and I didn't dwell further on the fact that her words were lacing with suggestiveness. She would get what she wanted soon enough and then we'd both be happy. But not now. And not in a fucking school storage room.

I didn't feel like dancing but I let her pull me on the dance floor and show off in front of her friends that she was on a date with me. I was very well aware of the fact that she wasn't really interested in personal qualities. Well, neither was I.

I finally spotted Bradley at the other end of the room. He was with Lucy Wadell from our year and he was giving me – a very noticeable - thumbs up. Was he crazy? If one of Vanessa's girlfriends caught that, I would spend the rest of the night arguing with her instead of doing other things that were so much better.

"So, how are you doing?" she whispered in a low voice.

I wondered if she was really interested or if this was her pathetic attempt to make small talk. Or more presumably, dirty talk. For a moment I considered telling her that I was doing great, with my dad screwing every female household help at home while my mother sunk into depressions, then I considered telling her to mind her own business, until I settled for simply lying to her in order to get laid later.

"Fine, I hope you, too," I answered and my voice automatically mimicked her seductive tone. I could feel her smile against my ear. I bet she was giving her girlfriends a triumphant look just now.

"Why don't we get something to drink?" I suggested.

She hesitated, then nodded against my shoulder and I swiftly pulled myself out of her embrace. She grabbed my arm and nestled against my side, giving me very little space to move. I suppressed a sigh. _Remember your goal_.

We began to make our way through the crowd, which was easier said than done with Vanessa pressing herself against my side.

"You make a cute couple," Bradley said as we reached the table with the drinks. Vanessa giggled and I shot him a look. He knew goddamn well that I wasn't in search of a relationship and a harmless comment like that could cause serious trouble later.

I filled two plastic cups with phony smelling punch and handed Vanessa one. She obediently drank up, like a small child taking her medicine.

"Jackson," Bradley murmured and I turned toward him, questioningly. "Look who's here."

He nodded towards the entrance and I followed his look. My gaze fell upon Lisa, standing next to her little, redheaded friend. She stared back at me, while her friend - Cynthia, was it? - was oblivious, chatting with a dark haired guy from their year. I openly scrutinized her for a few seconds and had to admit she looked good. Yet inaccurate. She was wearing a simple blue dress, with an unfitting, way too big jeans jacket. She looked like a lost child in it, who had stolen from her mom's closet.

I was expecting her to avert her eyes soon, or - better even - to flush in indulgence in remembrance of my little gift, the purity ring, which I had bought in the nearest costume jewelry shop. However, Lisa gave me none of that and kept staring at me stubbornly. If it was newly achieved boldness or simply pride that made her challenge me in the middle of the school gym, I could not tell - though I opted for the latter - but it unexpectedly sent a hot wave of anger over me.

She wasn't making it easy to get to her. I glared at her, wondering what else I had to do, which lines I still had to cross until she'd be broken. Until I had taken that attitude of arrogance from her. Because no matter how shy and restrained she might come across, what was really behind it was nothing but superiority. Lisa Reisert was above the rest of us and she was making us feel it.

A sharp, flesh-tearing pain on my forearm snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked down distractedly and the moment later realized what had pinched me. Or rather who. Vanessa gave me one of those death glares, only a woman could perform, and I rolled my eyes inwardly.

"What?" I growled, angry to be distracted and unexpectedly ashamed to be caught in my musings; for whatever reasons I could not tell.

"You know what! Stop ignoring me!"

"What are you talking about?"

Vanessa's gaze darkened. Obviously, she didn't like to repeat herself. We actually had something in common, then.

"I said you stop ignoring me and quit concentrating your attention on other girls."

She said 'other girls' but I was sure she had one particular in mind. Sensing her tetchy mood I decided not to tell her that she was being overdramatic, but instead chose to drop the topic.

"Bullshit," I huffed with a dismissive wave of my hand.

Vanessa didn't look satisfied but took the hint and didn't say anything anymore.

I dared a look toward Lisa again, but she was nowhere in sight.

The next half hour I spent 90% of my energy in suppressing the increasing frustration I felt when looking at my date. She may be good looking, but her exhausting personality outweighed her physical advantages. I probably got fed up by people faster than others, but no one had ever managed to piss me off within the first thirty minutes. I wondered if that made her something special.

Feeling Vanessa's possessive grip on my arm, I realized that I wouldn't be able to get through the evening. She was so goddamn annoying. Nothing was worth this. I took a step to the side and coldly shook of her hand.

"I'm out of here," I said bluntly to her questioning look.

She frowned.

"What do you mean 'you're out of here'? We're on a date! What will the others say if you just leave me here?"

I laughed drily. "You're not as good in manipulating people, as you think. If that was your attempt of emotional blackmailing, it was pretty damn lame."

Vanessa seemed to get ready for a real fight. I had no doubt that she wouldn't hesitate to make a scene in front of the whole school. So I did the best thing and simply abandoned her in the middle of the gym.

Outside I was greeted with a way too warm blast of air for that time of the year and the last rays of the sinking sun. Only now did I realize that I came here with a few other people, in Vanessa's car, and that I therefore would have to walk back home. Upset about how this -admittedly seemingly promising- evening had turned out, I kicked a stone against a parking car and left the school ground.

After ten minutes of walking I realized that I hated going on foot. I missed my car.  
>I decided to take a shortcut through the forest. I hated the forest and even more did I hate stumping through the woods, but it would save at least ten minutes.<p>

Between the trees, it was a little darker. The orange evening sun hardly fell through the thick ceiling of branches and the moist greenery made it comfortably cool. The further I went, the more uneven the ground became. A few meters away from me laid a demolished bike. I didn't pay much attention to it - it wouldn't be the weirdest thing that people happened to deposit in the woods - until I came close enough to see it clearly.

I paused and regarded it more closely. I knew that bike. Had attached a hastily written note to it just this morning.

Apparently Lisa had found the school dance a waste of her time as well. A grin spread across my face as I pictured her racing through the woods on her bike, with her head held high as usual, only to fly into the dirt a second later. It was a pity I hadn't been there to see it.

At least I wasn't the only one who had to take the way on foot then. The simple fact that she had to use her little feed feet just like the rest of the world and that she at least wasn't more comfortable than me right now, the satisfaction of that, lifted my mood immediately. That I usually was even lazier by taking the car, while she dutifully drove by bike, was considered irrelevant.

"Sorry, but you're just not good enough anymore," I told the damaged bike. Daddy-dearest would immediately replace it with a new one, that was sure.

I continued my way, now significantly more motivated. It couldn't be too far now. In front of me, still at least 30 feet away from me, was a clearance, which was enlightened by the last rays of the sun, beaming golden and orange in the otherwise shadowy forest. An idyllic image, hadn't it been for what appeared to be a garbage heap - given the unnatural bluish color that stood out in the mush of or orange, yellow and red colors of the leaves - at the farther side of the clearance.

As I came closer, and the heap became more contoured, it looked less and less like disposed garbage. A chill went through me. It was one of the moments, where you have a really weird feeling, and couldn't tell why.

At the border of the clearance I froze. What I had initially taken for a heap of garbage was a woman, frighteningly motionless and still. I stared at the body, still too far away from me to be identified, and tried to command my legs to move, or my hands to reach inside my pocket and call the police, but I had difficulties with connecting my brain to my body.

A sour taste lingered in my mouth as I forced myself to do a step in her direction, and then another, and another. I came closer, things started to get clearer, more visible and then I stopped.

It was all too familiar. The jeans jacket, the auburn curls, the bike, 50 feet behind me in the woods. I was incredulous that I hadn't put two and two together earlier. The girl's head was turned away, but I already knew who it was. The numb feeling that had overtaken me the last few minutes, died away and I took a rattling breath to calm myself. In contrary, it seemed to drive the wind from my lungs, my chest hurting tremendously and I gulped down the air, my throat clenching from the effort.

Her white body glowed in the light and with her hair pooled like blood under her head and over her face it was almost a bizarrely beautiful view. I could see her face now, the big laceration on her forehead, a red line on her throat. Her dress was ripped open in the front, her bra pulled down exposing her chest and the cut that was there.

Her legs were spread slightly and I looked away as I saw the grime, the blood. I had made it up until this point without losing it, but this was too much. I managed to get only a few feet away from her, before I fell on my knees and emptied my stomach into the foliage. I retched and retched, until there was nothing left to get out and then I wiped my mouth clean, feeling a salty wetness on my cheeks.

_God, why me?_

Without looking back, I hastily fumbled for my cell phone and with slick, undeft fingers I unlocked it, my sweat leaving the buttons moist and filthy. I felt like in a bad horror movie as the display flashed me the "No Signal" - symbol.

"No," I rasped at my phone, "No, please, anyone!"

I could feel myself slipping into a state of heavy desperation. There was no way - no way - I could carry her out of the forest, no way I could even look at her, let alone touch her. If I didn't reach anyone I would have to leave her and get help.

But I knew that I couldn't do that. I couldn't turn my back this time, couldn't walk away from the trouble now, not when the responsibility was so big and the situation so serious, so dangerous, with another person's life at sake, and the realization, the awareness of that almost sent me into a panic attack. And I wasn't one to break out into hysterics quickly.

I closed my eyes and forced my brain to work, forced my mind to come up with something. I wiped my hands clean on my jacket and got up. Turned around.

I slowly walked back to her and kneeled beside her lifeless body.

Lifeless and frighteningly pale.

With horror I realized that she may very probably be dead - and worse - because I didn't do anything but retching and crying like a girl. Her hair covered her face and I brushed it out of the way. I flinched as my fingers touched her cold skin.

I pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, searching for a pulse. The blood drummed in my ears as I moved my fingers, hastily, over her cold - way too cold - skin, trying to find anything, feel anything, a beating, a sign of life, anything.

_Oh my god, she's dead!_

The thought caused my heart to flutter unnaturally against my chest and I urged myself to go slower, press more careful and then I felt it, a not too strong throbbing, right beneath my fingers, beneath the soft, marble skin on the side of her neck. She was alive! I almost cried out in relief as I pressed my fingertips to the slowly beating spot on her skin. She wasn't dead, yet. But I knew that she had to get to a hospital, now. That cut on her chest hadn't looked too good.

Now that I thought about it, I realized that the blood was still flowing, and that that fact alone should have told me she was still alive, but it didn't matter now.

I shrugged out of my jacket and pressed it to her right breast, to the gap that was there, in a foolish attempt to stop the bleeding. After a few seconds I realized that it probably was smarter to get her away from here, first.

I put the ruined jacket away and carefully pulled her bra and her destroyed dress in place again, covering her up as much as possible. Hot waves of shame flooded over me as my fingertips brushed the bare skin on her chest, over the softness she harbored there, my fingers shrinking back as if I had burned myself. Now that she was covered up a little I was able to look at her again and the view of her vulnerable body compared to the image of her in the middle of the gym with that fierce look on her face, the disparity, just made me fully grasp the awfulness of the situation. That this moment, finding her beaten body in the forest, completely relying on my help, my responsibility, would have an impact on my life that was... irreversible.

I turned my head away as I yanked the skirt of her dress down over her thighs.

The sun was gone now and it became increasingly dark in the forest. Chills ran over my arms as I carefully picked her up. She was cold and even in the dim light her body glowed white as marble. The blood on her chest had stopped flowing.

I carried her out of the forest, every minute of holding her sending wave after wave of disgust and distress through my body. It was a horrible thing to feel, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to touch her, not after what had happened to her. I refused to let my mind go there, to imagine someone forcing himself on her, taking what was hers to give. I felt pity for her and I knew she would hate it. That I had found her at her weakest, her most vulnerable moment.

She was getting heavy in my arms. All that romantic drawling about a girl being light as a feather was bullshit. She was small and petit but after ten minutes, even her not more than 5'4 body felt like a stone. Luckily, we had almost reached the end of the forest. I decided to bring her to the local hospital, as I didn't know where she lived and there wasn't enough time to find it out.

Lisa stirred. I stopped and with a frown I regarded her. Her eyelids fluttered and her breathing became irregular. I could only hope this meant she was regaining consciousness.

After a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open and ungainly flickered around, scanning the sky and my face that was looming above her. I carefully let her down, still supporting her weight. She seemed having trouble to regain her bearings.

"Lisa?" I asked softly and squeezed her arm.

Her eyes reluctantly focused on me. She seemed confused. I wondered if she even recognized me, when her dizziness turned into open terror. She began to fight against me. Despite her struggling and twisting, I doubted that she could stand on her own already. I grabbed her shoulders and held her at an arm's length away from me to avoid her flailing arms.

"Lisa, calm down. LISA!"

She froze in the middle of her movement, with her body half turned away from me and her arms protectively crossed over her chest. She looked like she would pass out any second again.

"Lisa, calm down, nobody's hurting you!"

I winced at the stupidity of my own words. It was a tactless thing to say in such a situation.

Lisa seemed to think so, too, because her eyes started to fill with tears and angry red spots appeared on her cheeks.

"Take your fucking hands off me, you prick!" she cried and shoved me away.

I took a step back and watched as she swayed and placed a hand on her forehead. She was obviously not in her right mind.

"Lisa," I started carefully. "You have to get to a hospital. It's not far."

Instead an answer, she burst into tears. I was horrified, watching as she leaned against a tree next to her and buried her face in her hands. I wasn't very experienced with comforting people and I doubted I was very good at it.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. I felt extremely stupid, just standing there and doing nothing but watching as she was wracked with choked sobs. Eventually I stepped forward and tried to pull her up, but she fought so vehemently against my touch that I let her go again.

"Lisa, please. You have to see a doctor! I think you lost a lot of blood!"

At my words she suddenly looked down at the blood-covered front of her dress and she pressed a hand to her chest, all color leaving her face. She had been alarmingly pale before, but now her skin got a transparent grayish tone. She looked already dead to me.

"Lisa, whatever it is that keeps you from getting to a hospital right now, you have to suck it up and come with me. You really are in no good condition!"

I carefully touched her shoulder but she shrugged it off and vigorously shook her head.

"No! I don't want to go to a hospital. I just want to get home!"

"This is stupid, Lisa!" I growled, losing my patience. "Are you tired of living, or what? I don't know how I can make it any clearer, but if you don't go see a doctor, you might _die_!"

She flinched and I almost felt bad for yelling at her. But she had to snap the fuck out of it. We were losing precious time and I was tired of arguing with her.

"You know what? I'll just call the police!"

I hoped that my cell phone would find a signal this time.

"Go ahead, I don't care," Lisa hissed. She turned around and began to walk away from me as fast as her shaky legs would allow her. I stared after her, watched how she tripped and almost fell, and I had to wrestle down the pity that was starting to swell up inside me again. If she didn't want my help, fine. I certainly wouldn't ask to be involved in such a situation.

Angrily, I caught up with her.

"You're so stupid, Lisa, you know that? So stupid! I was trying to _help_ you, but even now, even after you-" I stopped and found myself not able to say it. "Even now you think you are too good to take an offer that's coming from me!"

We had reached the end of the forest. It was completely dark now and the streets were empty. I outdistanced Lisa and left her behind me, silently contemplating where to go. Home wasn't far away, but if I wanted to take her to the hospital, I had to take the opposite way. I looked back at Lisa. She had wrapped her ridiculously big jeans jacket around her body and her arms were crossed over her chest. It was cold and she shivered in her flimsy dress. At this moment she looked so incredibly young, not fifteen or sixteen, but maybe ten or eleven, that I was sure that I couldn't leave her alone. I took a hesitant step in her direction and softly called her name.

"Lisa!"

She didn't even look up. Stubbornly, she kicked a stone away and scuffled away from me, visibly weakened by her bad condition, but still, _still _so fucking arrogant. My sympathy died away.

I trembled with rage as I turned around and started to walk home. My anger about her behavior towards me was only increased by the terrible helplessness I felt. I had done everything I could - more than she wanted me to - but I still felt almost guilty. The rational part of my brain knew that at the moment, there were more important things than my pride, but then again, she had just looked fine minutes ago. I couldn't force her to accept my help, after all.

I looked back, but she had already disappeared around a corner. I stopped walking and glared at the corner, as if I could bring her back just by the sheer force of my eyes. I knew that it would be the only right thing to follow her, to make sure that she got home safely. But in my head, the scene unfolded, how I ran after her - making a fool of myself - only to be rejected again.

And it angered me, that, after all I'd done for her tonight, all the fear I'd felt, she still showed nothing but arrogance and repuslion towards me.

"You're back early," Nana greeted me, when I arrived home.

Nana lived with us, did the cooking, the laundry and the cleaning. She was young, pretty and Russian.

"Hmm," I grunted and threw a glance at my watch.

Merely 45 minutes had passed since I'd left the school dance. It felt like I had passed hours outside, in the forest. I grimaced. I didn't want to think about that now.

"Was it nice?" Nana asked.

Sometimes I wondered if she was really interested, or if my mother had told her to pretend that she cared. Because she was way too busy with swallowing pills to do it herself.

"Hmm," I repeated and brushed past her. Nana wasn't the worst company in this house, but every time I saw her I had the not so unjustified suspicion that she was screwing my dad.

Just like pretty much every female adult I knew, other than my mother.

"Don't you want to eat something?" Nana shouted after me, but I ignored her.

The thought of eating aroused a strong feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know if I would ever be able to eat something again. Swallowing the ridiculously big lump in my throat, I went upstairs and headed straight to the bathroom.

I stank after dirt and sweat, even though I hadn't danced much that evening. As I stripped off my clothes, I found that my shirt was sticking to my chest.

I entered the shower and turned the water as cold as possible. My chest clenched at the painful coldness and the air didn't want to leave my lungs. I closed my eyes and focused only on the feeling of the sharp water drops on my body, erasing all thoughts from my mind. But when I opened my eyes again, the images were still there, as clear and vivid and graphic as never before.

As I stepped out of the shower, I felt more miserable than before.

In my bedroom I risked a glance at my cell phone. The signal was back and there were three missed calls, two from Bradley, the other from Vanessa.

Bradley picked up after a few seconds.

"Where are you?"

"At home." My voice sounded raspy and hoarse, like I'd screamed for hours. Or cried.

"She's giving me hell." His voice wasn't accusatory, but I heard the disbelief clearly.

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

"Is everything alright?"

I hesitated. I wanted so badly to tell someone about it, to get rid of the images that were stuck in my head - or at least to share them with someone. But I realized it wouldn't be fair. And I didn't know how to begin anyway.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit disappointed about how the evening turned out." It wasn't even a lie. Just an understatement.

"Oh, well, I can see that. Why did you left her there in the first place?"

Now that I thought about it, I found that I had trouble connecting to the events earlier that day. Before-

"Are you still there? Sorry, but I gotta go, we're..."

He stopped and the silence that was followed seemed a bit guilty on his side. I rolled my eyes.

"Did you hook up with my date?"

"Well, you didn't... you left." By the way he was avoiding to say _'you didn't want her' _I concluded that she was most likely beside him right now. It was a base thing to do, but at the moment, I couldn't care less. I had doubt I would ever care for anything along this line again. It seemed so ridiculously unimportant now.

"Fine. Whatever. You have your fun, we talk tomorrow."

"Look, Jackson, I only thought since you-"

"It's fine, Bradley," I cut him short. I was suddenly feeling incredibly tired and every second that passed made me feel more and more drained. I didn't have the motivation to keep pretending that this conversation interested me.

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

Without waiting for an answer, he hung up.


	6. Sixth Chapter

**Thanks for all your support and reviews, I really appreciate it! :) Huge thanks to son-of-puji, for your great betaing, you have the most intelligent advices! I couldn't write this without you. **

Sixth Chapter

I woke up with a terrible weight crushing my chest. I trembled in the cold night air, the blanket tangled uselessly at my feet. There was pain everywhere. On my breasts, my legs, between my thighs.

Red letters of my alarm clock announced the time of 3.12 am.

I got up on shaky limbs and staggered to the bathroom, nausea already building up inside me. Closing the door behind me, I just managed to push up the toilet lid, before I started to retch. I leaned forward and vomited sour tasting stomach acid and water. There was nothing more to get out anymore. I had already thrown up two times this night.

Sinking back against the cold wall of the bathtub I buried my face in my hand, my slick tresses of hair sticking to my skin with sweat and vomit. I pulled myself up on the wall of the tub and hung over the sink, avoiding to look in the mirror.

The numbingly cold water I splashed in my face momentarily cleared my mind, until the thick fog of fatigue and exhaustion occupied it again. But it was no use. Every time I went to sleep, I would wake up from a horrible nightmare I had no remembrance of, with a racing heart and a sick feeling scratching on my insides, a feeling of utter desperation, of losing control. In total, I hadn't slept more than two hours this night.

I risked a look in the mirror, saw the dark circles under my eyes, the neatly vetted cut on my forehead, the skin, pale as a ghost's, but it didn't touch me. The person in the mirror, I no longer felt like her. I lifted my hand and the girl in the mirror did so, too, but other than that there was no connection between us.

Slowly, I lifted the hem of my pajama top, over my belly, my ribcage, my chest, until I pulled it over my head and dropped it carelessly to the floor. A thick layer of bandages was wrapped around my chest, over the wound on my breast. Against my will, my parents had immediately brought me to the hospital, when I'd arrived home.

They were worried sick. I had refused to say a word as I entered the house, but my appearance had obviously spoken volumes. I hadn't broken my silence during our drive to the hospital.

But when the doctor – an Afro-American woman with a friendly face and calm brown eyes - had asked me, in a soothing voice, if I had any memory of what had happened, I burst out into tears. I cried and cried, even as my father hugged me to him and cried with me, clutching me to his chest. I cried without saying a word, just sitting there, topless, on the examination couch, in a sterile, impersonal hospital room, with nurses and doctors watching me, sobbed until there were no more tears, until my mother told me to 'please tell them what had happened'. And so I did.

I hardly remembered what came afterwards. In the end, we drove back home, my parents looking at me in the rearview mirror every few seconds, as if they feared I would lose it any minute again.

Seeing myself in the mirror now, I felt a cruel kind of déjà vu of yesterday morning. Now, I only laughed bitterly at how ridiculously stupid I'd been then, worrying about a school dance and my bad appearance. I had not known how much worse it could get.

My self-doubt and insecurity, it had been nothing but a child's play. Harmless teenager concerns compared to this.

I would not have believed that those feelings were still to intensify, could still intensify, but the self-disgust I felt now outshined everything I had ever experienced. It was frightening how much had changed within a few hours and the realization of that, the knowledge, revealed to me how far-reaching this event had been. Would be.

I pushed away from the sink and slowly stripped off my remaining clothes, until I was naked except for the bandages around my chest. I wanted to take a shower, so badly, wanted to bath in acid to get rid of the grime, but I wasn't allowed to. The bandages mustn't get wet and they needed to stay on for at least 12 hours, before they could be changed.

I felt like pulling my skin off my body, getting rid of that disgusting shell that bound me to the dirt, to the memories. If I could only get away from it, I thought, then maybe I could get away from the pain, too.

My vision blurred with tiredness and exhaustion, but I refused to go to sleep, to even think of it. I couldn't go through this nightmare again, I wouldn't survive it.

Taking a small scrubber from the bathroom shelf, I filled the bathtub with hot water and half a bottle of shampoo, until the bubbles almost reached the edge of the tub.

I dug my arms into the hot water – boiling water, it felt – and welcomed the pain, the burning sensation spreading over my skin. I closed my eyes and waited for the dirt to be burned out of my skin.

I wetted the scrubber and applied an extra dose of shampoo on it, then I started to scrub harshly at the insides of my arms.

I scrubbed and scrubbed, with all my force, until I no longer felt the pain and the skin on my forearms was raw and red. I proceeded with my upper arms until I was satisfied with the result. Stealing a glance at my watch I saw that it was 4.07 am.

Not even an hour had passed. I pressed the back of my hand against my eyes and swept the hair out of my face. The night was still young and there were three endless more hours to kill, before my family would get up. I wondered how often I had to wake up this night again, stagger to the bathroom and do this all over again. The retching, the crying, the scrubbing.

This night. And the night tomorrow. And the night after tomorrow…

The thought crossed my mind that there weren't only three more hours to pass, but hundred, thousand more hours, every night for the rest of my life. An icy hand gripped my heart.

_I can't do this_, I thought, _I'm not strong enough._

_I could end it_.

The idea came out of nowhere and even though it seemed like a relief, I immediately dismissed it. Suicide was not an option. I didn't have the guts to do it and I owed my family too much to leave them like this.

No, I wouldn't be such a coward.

But it would be easy. So easy.

: :

At half past six I left the bathroom and dragged myself down the stairs. The house was illuminated by a soft morning light, but I hardly noticed. The kitchen was empty, lifeless, with all the kitchenware switched off and the curtains closed. I only knew this room filled with the cheerful chatter of my family, with the scent of freshly cooked food, sometimes stuffed with dirty dishes waiting to be washed, or anything really but this quietness.

Silently, I began to prepare breakfast, set the table, made scrambled eggs, buttered bagels, even reamed orange juice until my mother entered the kitchen.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" she asked startled.

I looked up from the apple I was peeling and took in her appearance. She was still in her pajamas, with tousled hair and no make up on, something I hadn't seen in a long time. When I got up she was always ready, yet, looking so perfectly fresh and energetic that one could only wonder if that woman needed sleep at all. Considering her hyperactivity it was probably more like a burden for her.

But now she looked like she'd been run over by a train, with pale skin and dark circles under her eyes and for the first time in my life I found a similarity in our features. We obviously looked the same after a long night.

"Breakfast," I replied dully and went back to peeling the apple. Golden Delicious, my favorite.

"Honey, you should go to bed, you look like you haven't slept at all." She tried to sound normal, but I noticed that she was uncertain how to handle me.

Placing the knife I was holding beside the chopping board I looked up at her. She was gauging my reaction like she was expecting me to jump at her any second. So I was considered a nutcase in this house now.

"I'm fine, mom, just a little tired."

"Lisa, sweetie. If you wanna talk about anything…"

"Right now, I just want to have breakfast."

We stared at each other and I managed to lift the corners of my mouth. I hoped that it looked like a smile and not like a grimace.

Gingerly, I sat at the table and pulled the pan with scrambled eggs to me, filling my entire plate with it. My mother was watching me, following my movements with her eyes as I picked up the fork and began to eat.

"You're not going to school today, Leese," she finally said gently and sat next to me.

"What?" I dropped the fork and looked at her in horror. "But I have to go. I'm gonna miss a lot of classes if I don't go."

"Lisa, you can't go to school today. Don't you think it would be too… disturbing for you, now?"

My gaze hardened.

"What are you afraid of?" I asked with a hollow voice. "That I'll go postal?"

"Of course not honey," my mom said and took an apple, without eating it. "But your father and I really think that it would be better if you stayed home today."

She turned the apple in her hands with agitated fingers and I watched it a little before answering.

"I think I should go, mum. And you can't force me to stay," I added as she tried to protest. "I'm getting ready for school now. I have to leave earlier than usual, I can't take the bike obviously."

I jumped up and fled out of the kitchen. It was a blessing that it still was so early and the rest of my family wasn't up, yet. School wouldn't be half as disturbing as having to put up with their concerned looks, their careful approaches. I wasn't an untamed animal, after all.

In my room, I locked the door behind me and started to undress. It would be a hot day, just as it had been the last week, so I couldn't wear jeans and a sweatshirt, no matter how badly I wanted to.

I dug out my longest skirt –which ended a bit over my knees- and opted for the shirt with the highest collar, a black thing from last year I sure would die in from overheating.

But it had the desired effect and covered all the bandages, as well as a lot of skin. It was a little too tight, especially around my chest and the fabric pressed uncomfortably against the bandages over my wound. I grimaced. I didn't want to be reminded of my injury the whole day.

A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts.

"Lisa?"

That was Henry's voice.

"Lisa, are you in there?"

I didn't respond. Afraid, I stared at the door, fixated the wood as if it would be broken down every moment.

"Lisa, please!"

I hadn't seen Henry since I had left the house yesterday. I hadn't seen him since I had been… attacked.  
>Miraculously, the thought of talking to him didn't disturb me as much as talking to my mother. I walked up to the door and unlocked it with rigid fingers.<br>Henry pushed the door open and I quickly dropped my gaze to his feet.

I could feel him look at me, feel his body hovering above me, so much taller than my own, and still his presence wasn't intimidating. His sheer closeness was making me feel safer, already.

Neither of us spoke for a long while. Then, without a word, he pulled me into his arms and I buried my face into his chest, hiding in the soft, white fabric.

"Shh, Lisa," he whispered and I realized that I was crying. "God, I was so worried about you."

I didn't respond. For what felt like an eternity we just stood there, holding onto each other and waiting for this moment to pass. It was consoling and painful at the same time.

Then, with a somewhat apologetic move, I freed myself from his embrace. "I think I'll go to school, now."

Henry didn't protest like mom, but I could feel his eyes on me the entire time until I left the house.

Outside, the warm morning air hit me with its muggy sultriness. I swept my hair out of my face and started walking. Being outside helped. The prospect of going to school, where no one knew about what had happened and couldn't act strange around me, did so too.

Or at least I thought so. An icy-cold suspicion clenched around my heart as I suddenly remembered Jackson.

The long night and the effort to try and avoid all those memories had made me totally forget about him. Now, that I remembered him I didn't understand how I could have forgotten about this. What if he had told anybody? Or everybody? The thought made my face burn with humiliation. Of all the people from my school, _he_ had to find me. Jackson Rippner was the last one I wanted to know about what had happened. Only the thought of him finding me in that vulnerable state made me cringe with discomfort. It made the whole thing so much worse.

I closed my eyes against the threatening tears as I neared the school building. What if he had taken pictures of me, while I was out and showed them around? Would he really be that cruel? His words echoed in my head "_You'll probably stay a virgin forever. I mean who would want you?"_

Yes, he definitely was.

How would the others react? Would they pity me? Or would they find me repulsive and disgusting?

Probably the latter.

But as I entered the school ground, everything seemed suspiciously normal. As usual, nobody even looked up as I walked past, hardly sparing a glance at me. Or were they all just acting normal?

As I walked to my locker I saw two girls talking to each other behind their hands. Were they talking about me? And wasn't everybody just a little too focused on ignoring me?

Deep down I knew I was overreacting, but I couldn't shake it off, the uncomfortable feeling of suspicion and paranoia that clung to me all the way to my locker.

"Lisa!" I almost jumped out of my skin as I heard a loud, excited voice, and a second later my vision was obscured by a red mop of hair as Cynthia threw herself into my arms. I froze. She knew.

"Oh, Lisa, something wonderful happened!"

Or maybe she didn't.

Leaning back as far as her cramped hold on me would allow, I looked at her carefully, took in her shining eyes and the blushing cheeks. Cynthia was almost ecstatic with happiness.

"Lisa, last night... Eric and I… we're a couple now!" she shrieked, loud enough to make the people around us turn their heads to see where the noise was coming from.

Smiling at her was easier than I thought, due to the immense relief I felt. Cynthia didn't know. She was crazy about Eric, but I was certain that not even he would be more important than my attack. And if Jackson had told anybody, Cynthia would know. She knew everything about everyone, and even she sometimes didn't know how.

"Cynthia, that's great!"

"Yes, isn't it? He asked me to dance with him, and at first I thought, like, hell no, but then I was, like, okay, why not, and then we danced together and he told me I was pretty and…"

Without hesitating, Cynthia began to report every detail of the school dance without taking a breath, but I could barely concentrate on her.

Why hadn't Jackson told anybody? He'd been so angry yesterday that I had expected him to work on his revenge, immediately. And what would be a better revenge than ruining my reputation for the rest of my school time? It was the one thing, the one weakness that I just wanted to forget and he knew about it and could constantly use it against me, bring it up again. So why had he held back? Did he want to blackmail me with it? Keep his trump for the time being?

Still deeply in thoughts, I took leave of Cynthia, who whirred off to tell another one about her date. A bit aimlessly I wandered through the corridors. I'd left the house so early this morning that I still had more than thirty minutes till class. I decided to spend them in the girl's bathroom, where the chances of meeting someone were comparatively small at this time.

Maybe nobody knew because it was still too early for the rumor to get around? Maybe Jackson hadn't told anybody, because he hadn't met anybody yet. But then again, in the times of 24/7 social networking, the chances were admittedly slim.

Rounding a corner, I suddenly spotted a group of senior guys, leaning against a row of lockers across the corridor.

I didn't see him but I knew he was there, knew it by the way they all crossed their arms, or buried their hands in the pockets of their pant, desperately attempting to look just as relaxed and superior as he probably was.

High school is a society with a food chain and an ultimate only-the-fittest-survive- principle. There is an alpha animal, so to speak, and his loyal army of brown-noses. So called friends are all just trying to keep up and, if possible, dethrone.

I stopped walking, feeling somebody bump into me from behind and I stumbled an inch forward. I could see him now, still unaware of me staring. He looked painfully normal, just like he'd looked the first time I saw him. Nothing like last night. When the smugness had left his face for once, his attitude had disappeared. I remembered his panic and the helplessness and then the familiar anger.

Jackson looked up and spotted me, and there was a moment all the snobby behavior, all the arrogance and ignorance fell off out of his face, his heavy eyelids, the bored look, the relaxed posture. He lifted his head and searched my gaze.

I saw it crossing his face, the urge to say something, the uncertainty that made me avert my eyes and spin around.

I headed in the other direction until I reached the class room for my first lesson. It was completely empty as I stepped in, but I sat down at my place near the window nonetheless. So, I would spend the rest of my free time here then. Actually the chances of meeting someone were even smaller here.

Having some time for me alone gave me enough time to think. Think about a lot of things I didn't want to be reminded of, images that I couldn't push out of my head, that appeared every time I did not pay attention to where my mind was going. And not only images. Smells, feelings, even tastes, all those things haunted my mind, things I could only ignore if I tried very hard to focus on something else. I would have to learn not to let my guard down, from now on.

I was relieved when the class room finally started to fill with other students. The noise was better than that oppressive silence.

History wasn't really my favorite subject, but today I hung on Mr. Devall's lips like Adam Smith's economic liberalism was the most fascinating thing in the world. At the end of the lesson I could at least say that I had followed the lesson, _comme il faut_.

I took my time gathering my things, arranging the contents of my bag, until Mr. Devall, visibly annoyed, requested me to speed up.

"Bye," I murmured and was surprised by the rasp in my voice. I sounded like I hadn't used it for days. Mr. Devall didn't answer me, just impatiently jingled with his keys.

"Lisa."

I stopped outside the classroom as I heard the familiar voice behind me. I didn't turn around but I could feel his presence, unnervingly close. And intimidating.

"I have nothing to say to you," I hissed.

"You're avoiding me."

I rolled my eyes at him and finally worked up the nerve to turn around. He was standing closer than I expected, so close that I almost bumped into his chest, and I took an irritated step backwards.

"Have I ever?" I asked sarcastically, clutching my bag against my chest.

An uncomfortable silence spread out between us as I waited for him to speak. He looked like he wanted to say something, then thought otherwise and scanned me from head to toe.

"You look horrible."

It was rather a statement than an insult. I remained silent, stubbornly. I would not make a fool of myself again in front of him.

"Lisa, I've been thinking and…"

"Why didn't you tell anybody?"

He glared at me, pulling a deep frown over his forehead as his eyes narrowed to two slits.

"Why didn't you tell anybody about yesterday? I thought you would be delighted to be the one to finally ruin my reputation for good at this school. What do you want from me? Do you want to keep it a secret till you can use it against me? Or do you want to blackmail me or something?"

I was enraged, yet my voice was nothing more than a whisper and even in my anger I couldn't help but look around fearfully, afraid someone might hear.

"Are you crazy?" Jackson hissed.

"I'd more likely ruin my own reputation by bandying about it. That's just a little too cruel, even for me, don't you think?" he added cynically.

"Oh, how generous of you!" I spat.

I felt the blood rush into my head and stain my cheeks with angry, red dots. It was too humiliating. What on earth had I done to deserve this?

With an exasperated sigh, Jackson pulled a hand through his dark hair.

"Okay, whatever." He looked still upset to me, but now I could see a hint of exhaustion beneath the anger.

"I just wanted to talk to you to make sure that you were alright," he said rigidly.

I didn't know what his idea of alright was, but I had no spirit to fight again.

"Just leave me alone."

"Leese…"

I shook my head and left. I was angry with him, angry for finding me, for choosing that damn forest road, for being the only one who had seen me like this.

It was an experience I did not want to share with anybody, especially not him.

The rest of the day I spent trying to avoid running into Jackson or one of his friends again. It wasn't easy. Jackson apparently hadn't said everything he wanted to say and I could see him search my gaze whenever we – accidentally – met.

I wasn't sure whether this was actual worry, or just his way of dwelling on the fact that he knew something about me nobody knew, my dirtiest little secret, the very thing that almost killed me every moment I had to pretend everything was alright. One way or another, his constant present wasn't helping.

Didn't he realize that I was reminded of it every time I saw him? It wasn't easy to try and get distracted when the very evidence that it had really happened showed up everywhere.

When I came back home in the afternoon I was completely drained from all the pretending and hiding. Mentally drained, that is. Physically I was pent-up with energy I didn't know how to release.

At dinner nobody spoke. I could feel my parents looking at me, as I concentrated hard on picking in my lasagna with my fork. I wasn't feeling a bit hungry, in fact I was rather nauseous just thinking about food, but I forced myself to take a chew every few minutes.

"Lisa," my father spoke up softly.

I stopped chewing as a signal that I was listening. I could see them exchanging a worried glance out of the corner of my eyes.

"Your mom and I have thought about… you."

The tension in the air was almost palpable. I looked up.

"And?"

"Well, we thought that it might be a good idea, if you…"

He stopped and I could see him rewording mentally. He was gauging his words, no, gauging _me, _like he was afraid to say something wrong. Like I would jump up and run amok every second. I wondered why everybody in this family treated me like an uncontrollable animal.

"You know, you don't have to go through this alone, right?"

I nodded, slowly. He called it "this", couldn't call it by its name and I couldn't even blame him for it. I wasn't even able to say the word myself.

"Well, we thought that maybe it would be good if you'd seek… professional help."

My fork dropped on the plate with a loud clatter and my mother flinched.

"You mean like therapy?"

"Well, yeah…"

"No way. NO WAY!"

I jumped up like I had burned myself.

"What is it that you think I'm nuts? You think that I've gone crazy, that I've lost it? I'm_ fine, _goddamn it, or at least I would be if you wouldn't didn't treat me like a fucking nutcase!"

"Honey, you're not a nutcase. Look, I understand that the thought of therapy frightens you, but…."

"Quit talking to me like I'm a three years old, mom!"

I slammed my palm down on the table, glaring at my parents. I felt a pang of guilt as I looked into their helpless faces, but it felt so good to unleash some of that stuck up energy.

"Lisa, this is too much to handle all by yourself. Those people want to help you!"

"You're talking to me like I'm some kind of a serial killer! I don't have the slightest desire to tell some complete stranger about what has happened to me, because it isn't their business. And it isn't yours! It's mine!"

I stormed out of the room, leaving my parents alone in shock. The anger was already draining from me as I sped up the stairs, but I clung to it like it was an emotional life belt, because it was a tiny bit better than the numbness and definitely better than the panic.

In my room, I crawled into my bed and curled into a fetal position under my blanket. I left the lights on because it helped. It helped avoiding unwanted thoughts. Memories.

I was incredibly tired. All I wanted was to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes the images I had tried to forget flashed up before my inner eyes again.

When I finally fell asleep it was far after midnight, only to wake up at three a. m again.


	7. Seventh Chapter

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. You all have a great insight in the story and I'm happy to see how many of you are capable to feel Lisa's pain. It's a big compliment!

Also, a big thank you to my beta, son-of-puji, the most wonderful author.

PS: Reuploaded the chapter again after My beautiful ending told me that there were still comments of my beta. I am very sorry, I hope it didn't tear you out of the read too much! I apologize for my stupidness, it is so embarrassing :D. And thanks for mentioning it to me, I wouldn't have found them myself :)

* * *

><p>Seventh Chapter<p>

It was a slow change over the next days. Slow yet visible.  
>I observed Lisa whenever I saw her – which sometimes wasn't as coincidental as I told myself it was-, and her appearance seemed to worsen by each day that passed.<p>

What had started as a bit of paleness and shadows under her eyes turned into deep, dark circles and a sickly grayish, almost transparent skin tone. Even the few strands of hair that fell out of her bun and into her face looked lifeless.

That was new, too. That she wouldn't wear her hair open anymore. As if she tried to become invisible, she tied back the flashy, red curls, like she feared they would draw more attention on her when they flew around her face freely. And even if I'd never admitted it, I quite liked her hair.

When I saw her on Monday after the weekend, she looked like she hadn't slept at all in the last two days.

She stood in front of her locker, completely oblivious to the people around her. And they were just as unaware of her as she was of them. They didn't even seem to bump into her in their rush.  
>She was like a ghost and it made me want to touch her, to grab her wrist or her forearm, just to know that she was still made of flesh and blood. She looked almost transparent to me.<p>

Lisa Reisert seemed to slowly dissipate into air in front of my eyes.

And it felt horrible, seeing this and being the only one who noticed. The only one who knew. It made me feel responsible for her in a way, when at the same time I didn't want to be involved in this. I hadn't done this to her and it wasn't my fault what had happened. I had found her and I had done all there was to do. And that was it.  
>It wasn't my business.<p>

And yet, I felt oddly guilty nonetheless.

And it angered me, that it made me stay up at night, that I could sleep less and less with each day that she seemed to look worse. It was her problem, not mine. And she obviously didn't want my help.

But ignoring her didn't work out. She was like a red flag right in front of my eyes. And no matter how hard I tried to avoid her, fate – or whatever it was – obviously didn't want to let me off that easily.

"Hey, what are you looking at?"

I almost flinched, as Bradley showed up by my side. Slightly unnerved by being caught staring, I turned away from Lisa who was cleaning up her locker across the corridor.

"Oh, it's little red riding hood. Haven't seen her in a while. Has she been hiding from us, or what?"

"Come on, Bradley, I'm not in the mood for this bitch," I huffed, but he was already on her. It wasn't a surprise. This morning, he had received the message that he would fail math class and it was time to let out the pent-up frustration somewhere.

I knew the drill. Pretend you don't care and let off steam on others.

"Well, hello my fair lady," I heard Bradley say, "what a coincidence that we meet here in this crowded place. What brings you here, I may ask."

Bradley tore off a picture from the inside of her locker door and looked at it.

"Cut the crap," Lisa hissed quietly and pulled the piece of paper from his hands.

She didn't look up when I leaned against the wall to on her other side.

"Is that a nice way to greet a friend, Red?" Bradley asked and inched closer to her.

His chest bumped into her shoulder, making her lose ground and shuffle backwards and I wondered if we had ever invaded her personal space so much. Or other people's. I knew that I had intimidated her with that. But now that I could see her shoulders tense and her hands clench into fists, now that I could see the look of contempt in her eyes and the unyielding panic beneath, I became fully aware of how uncomfortable it made her, of the underlying threat of touch the touching, if only unintended.

"Come on, leave her alone, Brad."

I pulled him away, but he shook off my grip, angry to be interrupted. I saw the aggression that wanted to be released, one way or the other. If he didn't let it out on her, he would probably start a fight with some random guy later.

"Relax, man, I just want to talk, right, Lisa?"

She ignored him assiduously, but I saw her tense in anticipation, as if she expected a mental blow any second.

"Where have you been the last days? I've been missing you," Bradley smirked and looked at me in expectation. I forced a fake grin, but was secretly surprised how well her plan of becoming invisible had worked.

"I hope you weren't skipping class," Bradley continued with fake worry, "You know that's not a good thing to do, right?"

"Right," I chimed in, „which is exactly the reason why we should go to chemistry class now. You heard Mrs. Walker. One more time and we'll fail."

He shrugged but followed me grudgily grudgingly. I turned to Lisa to see if there was maybe a grateful reaction from her, if only a smile or a relieved look, but she had already turned away again.

If she felt my eyes on her, she either was very good at pretending that I wasn't there, or she didn't give a fuck.

"What the hell is your problem, man?" Bradley grunted, when we crossed the corner.

I sighed. I didn't feel like being the outlet of Bradley's frustration, but I knew that I deserved it in a way. Of course, two weeks ago I had acted just like Bradley like did. But I had never realized how repulsing it was.

"I just don't want to fail class because of this stupid, little girl," I said, inwardly cringing at the falseness of my words. It was nothing but hypocritical, first playing the hero-sort of and then pretending to not give shit.

But it was obviously what Bradley wanted to hear.

After sixth period, on my way to my car, I saw Lisa again, slowly sauntering towards her bike on the other side of the school ground, only a thin shadow against the afternoon sun. I stopped and looked at her, watching her slumped shoulders and the defeated posture of her back and with a somewhat surrendering sigh I changed my mind and quickly followed her.

Lisa didn't turn around but seemed to sense me, her movements picked up a quicker pace as she fumbled with the lock on her bike.

"What's the rush?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Unintentionally, it sounded rather daunting. She ignored me, but her posture seemed to become a bit more rigid then before.

I waited, somewhat impatiently but hiding that under a very neutral mask of calmness, until she unlocked her bike and turned around. Lisa didn't meet my gaze, but looked at a point somewhere on my chest. Or maybe she looked right through me.

I waited for her to say something, if only to send me away, but she stubbornly remained silent. It made me feel a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach again, the feeling I always got when she treated me with all that arrogance and superiority. It was somewhere between anger and derision.

"New bike?" I guessed cruelly.

Lisa froze and in contrast to her unmoved face, her knuckles whitened around the handle of the bike.

"It's my mother's," she snapped finally.

I had seen her mom, once when I'd coincidentally met Lisa in the mall with her parents.  
>She was a young, energetic woman, so totally unlike her daughter that it was hard to believe they were really related. Tall, blonde and very hyperactive, racing around in the store like a whirlwind in an annoying, yet funny manner. I doubted that her mountain bike had the right size for her considerably shorter daughter.<p>

"Can you even get up on this thing?"

A hard line appeared around Lisa's mouth.

"What do you care?"

"I just fear that you take on things a size too big for you, as usual."

Lisa snorted. Instead a reply, she stalked away from me with deliberated disrespect. She was being proud again.

I followed suit, a jingle of metal clattering against metal as I pulled the car keys out of my pocket, "Need a ride?"

At this she actually turned spun around and gave me an incredulous look.

"What are you playing at?", she hissed and angrily blew a lose strand of hair out of her face. I recognized something of the old Lisa – if you could phrase it that way – in that, something of the proud, unyielding Lisa.

To increase her irritation, because I found it a lot more comfortable than this sheer emptiness, I continued with a calm voice, "Nothing, I'm just trying to be nice."

"I'll take the bike, thanks."

"Fine. I'll walk with you."

She stopped and looked at me with a mix of surprise and distrust.

"Well, then you better run fast."

With this she swung herself on her mother's bike and – a bit clumsily – drove rode off.

I leisurely walked back to my car and caught up with her easily after only a few minutes.

I adjusted my pace to hers, driving slowly alongside her, with my arm hanging outside the opened window.

I watched the side of her face, the scrunched up nose that gave away her irritation and silently laughed to myself. She was actually quite cute when she was pissed off.

I couldn't even explain to myself why I was doing this. I would've like to claim that it was out of pure concern and sense of duty, but it was in fact rather a selfish motive: the mere thought that it would keep me up the whole night if I didn't follow her made me speed up. I would talk to her about it, then it would be out of my system. For good.

"Okay, this is ridiculous." Lisa stopped and abit awkwardly climbed off the way too big sized bike. „Why are you following me?"

She didn't even look as upset as I expected her to be. The tiredness and exhaustion was were back and it became clearly visible in the shadows on her face, the dullness in her eyes.

"What, Lisa, do you expect me to act as if everything was normal?"

"I expect you to leave me alone."

"What are you talking about, I haven't done anything in the past week. I even helped you out with Brad this morning!"

"Oh, how heroic of you! Do you really think that I give a fuck about you guys? Bradley could talk trash to me the whole day and I still wouldn't care."

I had to force myself to calm down. She was making it worse with every word she said. The anger.

"Listen, I don't want to fight with you about this. I think you have to accept that I'm involved in this, too, and you can't just block me out!"

I found that I had done a good job of being nice, but surprisingly, it enraged her even more.

"This isn't any of your business, Jack! Don't you get that every time I see you, I just want to throw up? You make it only harder to get over it!"

"Well, I'm sorry that I still fucking _exist, _Lisa, but without me, you would probably be dead by now, so how about you start thanking me for saving your stupid life. I'm beginning to think that I just should've left you there. Maybe someone else would have come and dealt with you."

Lisa bristled and I sensed that she was preparing a rant.

"I didn't ask for your help, you arrogant prick! Do you even have anything in your life, anything, that makes it worth living? Except bullying others? Because I had, Jack, before you took it away from me, with your stupid comments about my … my virginity and your fake pity and all that bullshit you've been giving me the last days. You are just as bad as that man, and, no, you can't help me, because you make everything worse!"

With every word she'd gotten louder until she literally screamed the last sentence into my face.

My hand twitched, jerked towards her at her words and I had to wrestle down the immense urge to strike her. Who did she think she was, comparing me to that man? As if a few childish pranks had anything in common with a crime like rape. I had never been as enraged as I was right now.

With a whirl, Lisa turned around and jumped on her bike, but I grabbed her wrist and yanked her down again.

"You stay here!"

My hands seized her forearms as I looked at her through a red curtain of rage, my fingers digging into her skin on their own accord. "How dare you to talk to me like that? No matter what happened to you, it doesn't give you the fucking right to say such things about me. About anyone!"

I shook her with a force I had no control over and she fought against me in lividly.

"You take that back, or I swear, Lisa…"

"Take your hands off of me!" Lisa fought against me harder, but I didn't relent, eyes blazing with rage.

"You are so fucking arrogant and so fucking proud, when in fact you are nothing but a worthless, little… "

"GET OFF OF ME, YOU FUCKING PERV!"

"Shut up, Lisa! Shut _the fuck_ up!"

We both stilled simultaneously, my voice echoing loudly from the walls of the houses surrounding us. In the back of my head, I realized that we were standing in front of a row of houses and that we had very likely just aroused the attention of the whole street, but the thought went under in the flow of emotions that flooded my brain. Right now, I couldn't care less about worried neighbors.

Through the wrath that fogged my mind, my brain tried to process what had happened, what we had just talked about – and to try remember what had been my intention all along – but it was unable to form a coherent thought when the adrenaline was still pulsating through my veins and I had to fight the urge to shake her, beat her, make her stop talking. It hurt. Her words hurt me, I couldn't deny it, no matter how much I wanted it.

I jerked my hands away from her and she stumbled backwards, out of balance. I could see the shock on her face, the tears of anger and fright that streamed down her face, her cheeks dotted with red spots of fury and I knew that I didn't look any more collected.

I tried to calm down, but it was hard to slow my racing heart, because besides my hurt ego there was something else, something even worse, that now nagged on the inside of my ribcage: guilt.

I remembered the conversation she mentioned, if you could call it that. I remembered the harsh remark about her virginity and the purity ring I'd pinned to her bike. Her old bike, I noted with a hint of bitterness. If it was tactless before, it was now the cruelest irony life had ever played on me.

Finally, Lisa moved.

"Here," she hissed and rummaged hectically around in her bag. "I guess I don't need that anymore, right?"

And with a terrible expression of mock victory, she threw the purity ring to my feet. The cheap metal jingled cruelly as it hit the floor.

I stood there, frozen to my spot even after she was long gone, the shock of our fight sinking into the pit of my stomach, where it left a cold feeling of foulness that was directed only at me.

That night, I didn't sleep at all.

: :

The next day I didn't see Lisa in school. I wondered if she stayed home or just effectively avoided me, but it bothered me either way. I had to talk to her and I was tired of running after her just to be rejected again. She was making it sound as if it was all my fault.

On my way home, I took a different route than usual, hoping that I would catch her on her way home. My fingers drummed impatiently against the wheel – impatient, even though I didn't know what I was waiting for. I didn't even know if she still had class, or if she was on her way home. And still. It was worth a try.

A dull throbbing in the back of my head reminded me of the sleepless night, and trough through the weariness that seeped into my bones I realized that I was very unlikely to find her now. I didn't even know if she still had class today or not. Or if she even took her usual way back home. Maybe she would have her parents pick her up after yesterday.

Or maybe she just hadn't been in school all along.

While the doubt more and more made me question my mental capacity – two weeks ago I would've laughed at the idea of taking a detour to see Lisa Reisert on my way home – I suddenly saw a thin figure on the side walk, kicking a little stone over the pavement with the same defeated posture I had seen yesterday.

I engaged the clutch and stopped the car ten feet in front of her, waiting for her to walk past before I pushed open the passenger side door.

Lisa slowed down and stared at me, her eyes portraying aghast disbelieve as she recognized me. With a jerk of my head, I motioned toward the passenger's seat. "Get in."

Her eyebrows rose, her eyes glinting scornfully. It was a look I could very much picture on myself as well.

"You're funny," she remarked dryly, voice telling the exact opposite.

"Just get in, I'll give you a ride. We need to talk."

I said it outright, no hiding behind fake-friendly words or parodizing an act of concern. With that, I decided, the chance of convincing her to get in was higher than with the usual asshole-behavior.

She looked like she very much wanted to reject the offer, and by the way her eyes travelled over the road in front of her, it was easy to tell that she was measuring how far she'd need to walk.

"Are you going to leave me alone, if I do?"

I didn't answer, just waited for her to get in the car, my hand already on the gear shift. _It depends_, I thought.

Finally, she shrugged and climbed in.

I started the car and Lisa pulled the door close, reducing the noise of the engine to a soft purr that could be heard inside.

"You might wanna buckle up," I reminded her quizzically and she huffed, face devoid of humor.

"Turn left after that yellow house over there," Lisa instructed me quietly, and I looked at her, noting how ridiculously out of place she looked in the huge SUV, with her pale skin standing out against the black interior of the car and her body drowning in the big leather seats.

It was my father's and he had a fondness for big cars, exerdetly showing off our family's funds. He probably cared more about his cars than about anything else in the house, including it's its occupants.

"So, where's mum's bike today?"

Lisa looked at me in a way, which supposed that I'd just made a very inconsiderate comment, and I knew that she thought of me as so insensitive it was almost criminal.

"I felt like walking."

"That's fine."

We fell silent again, until I remembered something I had wanted to ask her before.

"I don't even know how old you are. Fifteen, sixteen?"

"Sixteen since a few weeks."

"Do you already have a driving license?"

There was a frown on her forehead that showed beautifully how she didn't get the whole small talk thing, but she played along nonetheless. She was probably more comfortable to talk about irrelevant things anyway.

I felt the anticipation since she'd gotten into the car, the expectation of bringing up a topic that wasn't comfortable for either of us, like yesterday. Or last week. It was the elephant in the room, but we still danced around it.

"I'm on it. Turn left again next crossroads."

I jerked the car to a halt in front of a red light, almost forgetting to pay heed to the traffic. Not that there was much in this part of the city. We had reached the edge of a nice suburban area and I knew that we were close to Lisa's home.

"You know it was a joke. The ring."

The silence that followed was charged with anger and disbelief. I wanted to talk about it, wanted to get this right, but at the same time didn't want to apologize to her. She had made me do it. In my opinion it was just as much her fault as it was mine.

Finally, with a low voice, full of menace, she hissed, "If that is your definition of a joke, you're truly screwed up."

I shot her a look that was equally annoyed and abashed. She had a point, but I was not in the mood to discuss semantics with her.

"Call it whatever you want, thing is that it isn't my fault that you got raped."

Lisa gasped so loudly as if she wanted to suck in the entire air in the car. Again, I looked at her, confused about her reaction. It dawned on me as I saw her appalled expression, comma and the realization drew a crooked, bitter smile on my face.

"What, you don't want me to call it as it is?"

Her hand fiddled with the handle of the passenger's door as if she was getting ready to jump out of the car. Instead, she remarked, "You got green lights."

Distracted, I pulled away from the lights, trying to think of a way to bring up a conversation again, but everything that came to my head sounded either snide or apologetic. While the latter would probably fulfill its purpose, I found myself unable to swallow my pride.

"It's right there. Next to the red house."

I came to a stop in front of a nice looking, urban house. Lisa unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her bag from it's its place at her feet, getting ready to leave the car. With a small _click _I locked the doors of the car.

"Hey, what are you doing? Let me out!" Lisa irritatedly tugged on the door handle.

"In a minute. But first we have to talk."

She looked like she would claw my eyes out if I kept her in this car any longer, but I deliberately held my hand over the button for the door lock, blocking it from her.

"I am not going to pretend that it wasn't tactless," I finally said. I didn't elaborate 'it', but she knew what I was talking about.

"But," I added, before she could interrupt me, "I had no idea what would happen to you. And I certainly didn't wish for something like this to happen to you."

Lisa seemed to consider it, frozen into a movement that was halfway between getting out of the car and sitting back down, with her hand still in the air above the door handle, as if lingering there just in case. Only her eyes moved as she -for the first time for the past days – looked at me openly.

"Fine. You weren't thinking¸ I give you that," she said, letting the hidden insult leak through her pejorative tone. "Now, was that it?"

"I don't know," I admitted, relieved that we had settled this without another fight, "I guess I feel somewhat responsible for you. I wanted to make sure that we're even."

The moment those last words left my mouth I realized that I had said something wrong. Lisa didn't give any visible reaction, other than narrowing her eyes, but I sensed the revolt that was building up inside of her.

I tensed as well, not only because the change of atmosphere, but also out of embarassment for what had slipped out of my mouth. The responsibility I felt was a miracle even to myself, but somehow I didn't seem to gain enough rationality to shake the feeling off.

"I meant, so there weren't any hard feelings between us anymore," I hastily added, hating the almost precatory sound of my voice.

Lisa blew out the hair she'd apparently been holding, making a few lose strands of hair flutter about her forehead.

"You cannot seriously expect that giving me a ride home would make up for all the things that you did to me, right? Not even you would be that stupid!"

"I think I have done a few more things than just driving you home in the last days."

"Well, in the last days. You've been torturing me for month! Do you even know how horrible you were making me feel? You ruined my life!"

I barked out a cold laugh. The anger that was chewing inside me changed into scornful amusement. She was such a girl. All melodramatic and exaggerated.

"Don't you think that you're a little bit overdramatic? 'Ruined your life'? I want to make peace with you, Lisa, but I forgot that you prefer to sulk over some childish taunts and wallow in self-pity!"

"Open this door," her voice was calm, dead cold. However, when she tugged on the handle, I saw her fingers trembling.

"I'm not opening this door, before you've given me an answer," I said. To which question, I didn't even know myself.

"What should I answer you? Ever since this happened, you've been running after me like we were some sort of allies. But this doesn't connect us and you are not responsible for me! You can be as nice and obliging as you want, and you could drive me home everyday every day and I still couldn't forget what a horrible bully you really are!"

My heart race picked up at her words, and a cold feeling spread from the inside of my chest. Here it was. The main reason why she was blocking my advances all along was not that she was too proud to accept my help, but that she had already written my me off as an unalterable bad person. It was even worse than sheer arrogance.

"Ok," I simply responded, earning the confused look, I had been playing at. "I pick you up at eight thirty in the morning then. Or don't you have first period?"

A bit stunned, she stuttered, "What… what are you talking about?"

Casually, I unlocked the doors. "You said I could give you a ride everyday every day and it wouldn't change anything. I'm gonna prove you wrong. So when should I pick you up?"

The silence that followed was expected, a pause in which Lisa just stared at me and obviously started to think that I really was nuts. I could almost see the wheels spinning inside that pretty little head, as she searched for an excuse to refuse the offer.

"Come on, just until you get a new bike."

"Fine. Pick me up at 8. 15. Be on time!

I grinned at the small victory as Lisa climbed out of the car. Before she walked away, she leaned down again and I quickly opened the window on the passenger's side.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"We have something in common then." Feeling confident again, I winked at her.

She snorted, in a very Lisa-like way and straightened.

I watched her take the way to the front door with long, quick steps and I almost got the impression that her posture was a bit less defeated.

So, I was carpooling Lisa Reisert now. It _was_ crazy, indeed.

Suddenly, I felt dead tired. This girl was wearing me out. She was a hell more work than I had expected. But at least I had the feeling that I would sleep better this night.


	8. Eighth Chapter

**Okay, folks, so here it is after almost 2(!) month waiting time, I think! I am so sorry for that, I am horribly impatient myself, so it's quite hypocritical to take so long to update. I was pretty busy, but also - I won't deny it - kinda lazy. **

**I want to thank you all for the patience and loyalty. You're reviews are so intelligent and great, it really warms my heart! You guys are great. **

**As always, special thanks to my beta, son-of-puji. I really do appreciate how much effort you put into this, even you're so busy yourself :) **

* * *

><p><strong>Eighth Chapter<strong>

Lisa's POV

When I woke up this morning it was 5.24 a.m. It was still way too early, but I regarded it as a positive development. After all, it was over two hours more sleep than I'd gotten last night.

I got out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom, careful not to wake up my family. They were still unable to accept the sudden turns of events.

My parents were crazy with worry, moving around me like they expected me to go off like a mine field, which equally annoyed and abashed me. It felt as if I wasn't their daughter anymore. Their 'old' daughter.

Henry seemed to cope better with the situation. I could feel his eyes on me, whenever we were in the same room, and it pained me that even he saw me differently, but he left me alone most of the time. And most important, he hadn't tried to talk me into therapy, yet.

I quickly slipped into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind me. It was still dark outside, and freezing cold in the unheated room.

The days were getting shorter now as we moved more into the fall, and the nights colder, even though it was still comfortably warm during the days.

I stripped off my pajamas and quickly wrapped a towel around myself, covering my body. I knew no one was there to see me, and yet even the short moment of being completely naked made my heart rate pick up.

I stepped in front of the mirror and reluctantly pushed down the towel until it was wrapped around my waist, exposing my bandaged chest. They had been replaced by new ones in the hospital a few days ago and I had put off removing them ever since.

But now it was time to have a shower again and for that I had to take off the gauze. I unrolled the bandages with rigid fingers, layer by layer, until my chest was completely exposed.

I forced myself to look into the mirror with a mixture of dread and curiosity. There it was, an ugly, angry line over my right breast, brownish with a small layer of scab. I reluctantly touched a shaking finger to it, but pulled back immediately.

It was horrible. I was marked, labeled, inscribed as a whore. Used. Ravished. Up for taking.

Trembling with cold and nausea, I turned away.

After a long, painfully hot shower, I applied new bandages, carefully avoiding the look into the mirror.

It was half past six when I left the bathroom. Going back to sleep was out of question, I was way too agitated to relax now. It was too early for breakfast, so without further ado I decided to go for a morning run. I had always wanted to focus more on doing sport anyway.

The cold air hit me with all its merciless sharpness, but soon I felt that exercising was doing me good. It helped to get my head empty.

After an hour I returned home, only realizing how long I'd been out, when I looked at the clock. I felt better. Freed.

I entered the house and let the door fall shut behind me. Rustling noises came out of the kitchen and moments later my father hurried into the hall, his face flustered red.

"Lisa! Oh my god, sweetie, where have you been?"

"Sorry, dad," I responded and stripped off my shoes. "I've been up earlier so I went for a run. I'm really sorry, I didn't think."

Now, that I thought about it, I felt stupid. I had put my parents through enough already and now I was making them feel even more worried about me.

"No, it's fine, Lisa," he responded, obviously relieved to have me back unharmed.

But his reaction annoyed me. I knew, had I ever left the house in the early morning without telling anyone or even leave a note in the past, my parents would have killed me. Was my accident the overall excuse for everything now? They couldn't even punish me properly anymore.

"Come on, let's have breakfast, it's late already."

I followed him into the kitchen. When my mom saw me, her worried expression immediately brightened, and I knew that I wouldn't get the expected trouble here either.

"Lisa, my god, I'm so glad you are here. Where have you been?"

Before I could respond, my father started to explain. Annoyed that I was treated like a small child, who had been lost in the mall, I sat down at the table and started to make myself a sandwich.

I wasn't hungry, so I avoided eating by spreading the butter carefully on the toast over and over again. I felt my mother's eyes on me, so I forced myself to take a bite, rolling the dry bread around in my mouth.

"Shall I give you a ride to school, sweetie? It's already past the time you would normally leave."

"Oh, no it's fine," I answered between two bites. "Err, a... school mate is picking me up at quarter past eight."

I said 'school mate', even though it sounded weird, because I couldn't bring myself to say 'friend'. My mother seemed surprised.

"Really? Who?"

"Oh, Jackson Rippner, he's living not so far from here, so he offered to give me a ride until I get a new bike."

My mother's eyebrows raised and for a moment she looked at me, like she used to look at her teenage-hormone-overloaded-daughter in the past. I almost felt normal again.

"Really? That's nice of him."

I heard the insinuation in her voice, and could see it, too, in the way my mom looked at me with that "sound's like someone has a crush on my daughter" – look.

I laughed an honest – yet bitter – laugh at the idea. That was probably the last thing he felt for me.

"Well, then you better get ready, it's almost eight o'clock. I'm sure he will be here on time."

That last comment was unnecessary, I thought, and it would've made me roll my eyes only two weeks ago, but now I was happy about it. If my mom already regarded me as a normal teenager, with normal teenage problems, then maybe we could get back to my old life sooner than expected.

I had already taken a shower this morning, but there was no way I could go to school all sweaty and stinky. And even though this meant having to put on new bandages once more, I was craving for another shower. The feeling of being dirty had returned, and I felt the urge to scrub it out of my skin.

Unfortunately, there was not enough time for that.

It turned out my mother had been right. At exactly 8.15 a car stopped in front of our house and my mother curiously inspected it behind the curtain of our kitchen window, watching me as I left the house.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jackson greeted me and gave me a full smirk. He was in a good mood, I noticed.

"Morning," I grumbled and climbed into the car. He took his time looking me over and I blushed at his scrutinizing stare, unsure how to interpret it.

"You look… better." He stated. The mocking had left his voice. "Slept well?"

It was there again, his shit-eating grin, and I wasn't sure if it was just a stupid comment or actually ambiguous – though I could not believe that he was that tactless – but I had seen the honest curiosity in his eyes moments before.

"Sure. Can we go now?"

With a shrug, he started the car and drove off. The way from my home to school seemed much shorter than the drive he had given me yesterday.

We didn't talk much. Mainly because I objected to give him more than one-word answers and only groggily so. After a few minutes, he stopped trying to start a conversation.

"So, here we are."

I looked around. We were in the public parking lots of our school. Countless students were arriving, greeting friends, running around and chatting cheerfully.

I gave him a fake look of surprise. "Oh, in front of all those people? You really want them to see that you were carpooling me?"

Jackson flashed me a grin. "Nah, it's fine, I'll just tell them that you wanted to at all costs."

He gave me a wink and got out of the car.

"Stupid bastard," I muttered and got out as well. A few girls not far away actually seemed to notice me, for the first time in their lives probably, and they stopped walking. I could see them exchange glances of disbelief.

Lisa Reisert in Jackson Rippner's car? I bet they were guessing how much I had paid him to give me a ride.

"How many periods do you have today?" Jackson asked and I turned around to face him, ignoring the girls whispering behind my back.

"I'm done at half past four, today."

He nodded. "Me, too. I'll wait."

Before I could protest he turned around and was immediately greeted by a couple of guys, who walked by. Not wanting to draw their attention on me as well, I dismissed the idea of going after him and telling him that a permanent carpool was not a good idea.

Sighing, I threw my bag over my shoulder. Eight more hours to go.

: :

"You're late!" Despite the fact that I'd always sworn to myself to never become like my mother, I couldn't keep the accusation out of my voice.

Jackson paused momentarily and looked at his watch.

"Yeah, ten minutes," he drawled sarcastically. "Relax, Leese."

"It would have been quicker for me to walk!"

"Why didn't you do that then?"

Flustered, I hurled my bag into the back of his car, searching for an answer.

"Because… because, you said you would wait. And I didn't want you to wait for nothing. Like I did!"

He started the car. "I'm here, now, right?"

I drummed at the armrest with my fingers. There was a tension inside my body that could be compared to the feeling you get when you hadn't moved for a really long time, the need to release some physical energy.

Maybe that was the reason why I was so pissed off at – admittedly – nothing.

"I could have been home already, if it wasn't for you!"

I knew that I sounded ridiculous, but I couldn't stop. It felt so good to let it out on him. Even if I didn't really knew what 'it' was.

"You know, you're right," Jackson snapped angrily " I heard there's a great shortcut through the forest that saves a lot of time."

The silence that followed was heavy with reproach and disbelief. Even the car's engine growled ominously.

"I think I'll walk the rest," I whispered, trying to keep my voice from trembling. I was so incredibly angry. And embarrassed. How could he bring this up in a snide remark like it was nothing but a sick joke.

"Lisa." He didn't say anything else, just my name. Like it was an apology. I waited, but there was nothing more to come.

"Let me out."

"Lisa, it was a stupid remark. I didn't think."

"Oh, you didn't think!" I exclaimed, feeling heat rising to my face. "I'm glad that it's so easy for you to forget about this, because for me it really isn't!"

My eyes started to burn at my words and I felt a tingle in my nose, but I refused to cry. Not in front of him. Not because of him.

"You know what, it's all right. I'm not angry with you. To honest, I'm not even surprised. It just confirms what I said about you yesterday."

His lips pressed into a tight line as he remembered my words - that I would never forget what a horrible bully he really was – his eyes turning to ice.

"It was a stupid remark, but it slipped and I think if you wouldn't be so melodramatic all the time, you would realize that you're overreacting," he finally pressed out with forced calmness.

I stared at him, as he kept his eyes trained on the road, and my hands balled into shaking fists.

"You really find me melodramatic? I'm overreacting?"

Now my voice was low, too, and laced with the same held-back anger like his. For a stranger it might have been amusing to watch us, both trying to keep appearing calm and controlled. But the topic was too bitter to be laughable.

And this game went on for much too long now.

Jackson pulled the car over to the right side of the road and killed the engine. Confused, as we weren't there yet, I looked around.

"If you want to get out, get out."

His face was a mask, clear of any emotion. If anything, he looked bored. It made me furious that he gave up so quickly, that he didn't even try to apologize. Or to change my mind.

We were both stubborn, thickheaded and convinced that we were in the right, but right now one of us had to jump over their own shadow. This constant see-saw didn't lead anywhere.

"I thought you wanted to give me a ride?"

This time he looked at me and the coldness he radiated was worse than his anger.

"You said you want out."

"God," I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air. I felt like tearing my hair in frustration. "Do you even feel sorry for what you said to me? Or is it all my fault again? Overreacting, stupid, little female me!"

His façade seemed to crack slightly as the lines around his mouth hardened. At least he was as frustrated as me.

"I am sorry for a lot of things I said to you in the past, but I have tried to be nice so many times now and you still don't get it. Why should I apologize if you don't want to forget about it? You're holding onto this like you want us to be enemies. So I decided to give it up. If you feel better sulking in self-pity, I'll let you do it."

"That's the most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard," I said sharply.

His eyes glinted maliciously at me.

"Or maybe," he continued, ignoring my remark, "Maybe you really want us to stay enemies. Because you lost everything. Or does anyone who knows what happened to you treat you like they treated you before? My hostility is the only normal thing you still have, and you just don't want to lose it!"

My mouth opened automatically to respond something, to shoot back a witty retort, something that would take the meaning out of his words, but my brain couldn't come up with anything, as I gaped at him, probably looking very much like a fish.

"You… you are so disgustingly full with yourself! Do you really think that I am so dependent of you that I try to provoke your hostility? I want you to leave me alone, that's it!"

"Then just get out of the car. I promise it'll be the last time that I offer you a ride."

It was a clever trap, I admitted. If I got out, I would lose this fight and would let him get away with that ridiculous assumption that I wanted to keep up the hostility. If I stayed, I would – in a way – confirm being dependent of him.

"I'll stay, if you say you're sorry."

Admittedly, not the best decision. It was childish and ridiculous, and I realized that I was granting him a small victory with this, meaningless, but still a victory. But it apparently was enough for him, because he laughed quietly, suddenly sounding pleasant again and started the car.

"Alright. I'm sorry. I actually really am. It was a stupid thing to say."

At his genuine smile, I couldn't help but smile back and give him an approving nod.

"You see, that wasn't so hard, right?"

He shook his head in disbelief and pulled the car onto the road again.

"Want to listen to some music?"

I nodded and he turned on the radio. While his mood had obviously improved, I couldn't help but think about his words, and how cruelly spot-on they'd been. He was always like this, I realized, such a tactless jerk, but still, with surprising insight into the human psyche. Into my psyche.

That was probably what made him so popular, and so feared at the same time.

We arrived in front of my house in short time. As I tried to open the door, I found that it had been locked again, and giving him a glare, I saw that he was smirking, obviously finding this joke incredibly funny. My gaze darkened at the reminder of our fight and at the fact that he seemed to take it so easy already, but not wanting to provoke a quarrel again, I simply raised my eyebrows, indicating him to unlock the doors.

A soft click told me he'd done so.

"Lisa?" he called after me, after I'd gotten out of the car.

I turned around and looked at him expectantly.

"Tomorrow, same time?" he asked and it sounded genuinely kind. Hadn't I known him, I would've thought of him as the nicest guy I met in a long time, in this moment.

"Okay."

Jackson's smile was brief, but warm, and I felt an unexpected tingle in my stomach at the soft expression in his eyes. It was so unusual of him to show this side of him to me.

"Who's that?" he suddenly asked and nodded towards the house.

I followed his gaze to see the curtains of our kitchen window fall back in place. Embarrassed, I shot him an abashed grin.

"Ah, that was my mom," I muttered.

Jackson grinned, obviously catching on my embarrassment, but didn't rub it in.

"Well, then say hi for me. And see you tomorrow."

I nodded, silently cursing my mother for her conspicuity. I waited until he'd driven away before I went inside.

"Hey, mom," I greeted her, when I entered the kitchen. She looked up from the apple she was slicing, pretending to be surprised to see me.

"Lisa? Oh, you're home early."

"Yeah. This school mate gave me a ride, in case you've forgotten," I answered sarcastically.

"Oh, right," she said, acting as if she'd just remembered our conversation.

I almost laughed. She was such a bad actress.

"Okay, well, then I'll go do my homework."

"Is he coming tomorrow as well?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, and the day after tomorrow, he probably will, too." I had an odd feeling, saying it out loud.

"Alright, honey," my mother said, barely hiding her satisfaction.

As I climbed up the stairs to my room, I couldn't help but wonder if she was actually assumed there could be something between us. How could she possibly think that I would want a boyfriend after what I'd gone through. Didn't she realize that those things were the least of my problems now?

Or maybe, I thought, maybe she was just trying to avoid the topic. Like by behaving like that typical teenage mom, she would venture into safe territory again.

Thinking about it like that made me realize that this was at least better than the concerned looks and the suggestions to start therapy.

If I had the choice between the concerned 'my-daughter-isn't-my-old-daughter-anymore' – mom and the 'my-daughter-is-getting-a-boyfriend' – mom, I surely would have decided for the latter.

Who would've thought Jackson Rippner could actually come in handy one day.

: :

The next days started pretty much the same, with me waking up at a time way too early, then going for a run and taking a shower , before the now familiar car pulling up in front of my house to pick me up. Even though I would have preferred a night with a long, good sleep, I could feel the effects of running in the morning. The relaxing sensation of exhausted muscles and bones, the possibility to release some physical energy and get the head somewhat free, if only for an hour.

What had been an unfamiliar and unwished change in my former morning routine mere days ago had already turned into everyday life. And even though I would have never thought of counting Jackson as a strict part of my day-to-day – and more so, a part that wasn't entirely unwished – even that my mind seemed to have accepted somehow.

And even though Jackson and I still weren't really engaging in friendly conversations – not that it would have been possible, since neither of us wanted to reveal too much of ourselves in front of the other – the atmosphere between us became much more relaxed.

We weren't talking much, besides the usual 'Hi – hi – bye'. Most of the time we would simply sit next to each other in silence for the short time of the drive until we reached our destination. But it was comfortable silence. Sleepy, bored silence in the mornings and exhausted, drained silence in the afternoons.

"You're walking in the wrong direction!"

I stopped and turned around, spotting Jackson leaning against his car about 30 feet away.

"Oh right," I said, walking up to him "Sorry, I forgot to tell you, but you don't need to give me a ride home today."

He looked more like a twelve year-old instead of a senior high school student as he was standing there, pouting slightly, in the public parking lot of our school, which was usually crowded with students, but right now completely empty except for a few cars, due to the late time of day. At five p.m. most students were already home.

The fall slowly stripped the trees of their red and yellow and brown garments and some trees were already bare. It was a beautiful day, and I had decided spontaneously to go to my old, deserted spot on the beach, where I could do some drawings. I hadn't done that in a long time, and I felt like I needed the isolated, calming effect of that place.

"Really? Why not? Don't tell me you have a date!" Jackson said, curiosity mixing with the usual mocking.

"Of course not," I snarled, angry for whatever reason. "I wanted to take a walk to the beach, that's all."

"The beach, really? I've never seen you there before," Jackson remarked warily.

I pursed my lips. Since when was this any of his business?

"It's a remote little spot, but really nice. A bit away from the public beach side. It would be way too much of a detour for you," I added, hoping to shake him off. However, Jackson didn't seem to take the hint.

"No, it's fine, I'll give you a ride. The beach isn't that close and you'll need at least 40 minutes on foot."

I felt uncomfortable with the idea of having him driving me there, because it was my place and mine alone, and Jackson Rippner was the last person on this planet I wanted to share it with.

"No, really, it's fine…" I said, trying for the last time.

"Come on, Leese, if you walk it will be six until you're there."

He was right and I couldn't come up with a better argument, so I simply shrugged.

"Okay, then."

I had to give him directions, while we were driving and despite the fact that I had been there so many times, I struggled to remember the way. I just had never paid any attention to the names of the streets, when I'd taken the bike.

"You can stop here."

We were close to the little trail of sand that led directly to the bay. Jackson looked around.

"Here? There's nothing out here." With a grin, he added. "Or are you taking me here to kill me?"

"Haha," I responded dryly and got out of the car. Jackson followed me and I turned around to him, not really hiding the alarm on my face.

"Err…"

"Relax, relax. I know that you don't want me to come with you."

Embarrassed that he had detected my discomfort about his company so easily, I hastily remarked. "Oh, no, really, that's not it at all…"

"Really? Well, great, because I'm dying to see the place where Lisa Reisert is spending her free time!"

You bastard, I thought, angrily. He knew very well how to direct things to his liking. Now I could hardly tell him no.

"It's really boring, just a small piece of beach, nothing spectacular!"

He shrugged, grinning broadly. "I'm sure it isn't that bad, if you like to come here."

I sighed and started to make my way through the waist high marram grass towards the little part where you could walk. The air already tasted like salt and I could faintly hear the ocean. Despite my company, I involuntary relaxed.

I stopped to take off my shoes and Jackson walked into me from behind, making me fall forward into the sand as I was bending down.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's alright, never mind."

Awkwardly, he helped me up, neither of us looking at the other. The air between us seemed to have changed somehow, into what, I couldn't tell – didn't want to tell – but it was making my cheeks flare with embarrassment.

"It's right there," I said, just to say anything, and hastily continued my way. His presence behind me was unnerving, the sound of someone else breathing, and the feel of his body heat in my back made my skin crawl.

This place was my place and mine alone.

We reached the small bay and I quickly took a few steps to the side, lucky grateful not to have him so close behind me anymore. If Jackson noticed, I couldn't tell, because I was doing all but looking at him.

I could feel his eyes on me, burning into the side of my head like laser dots, as I kept my eyes trained on the ocean, having a hard time pretending that he wasn't there. He knew that I was uncomfortable under his open stare, but he apparently didn't mind. Didn't he realize how much I wanted him to leave right now?

The silence stretched out between us and I shifted where I stood, my toes wriggling in the sand. The calm feeling that usually overtook me at this place was replaced by a sudden wish to dig my head into the sand, or to jump into the water and swim away, anything to get away from him.

After some time, Jackson softly remarked. "It's nice."

I looked at him and he returned my gaze openly. I looked around like I had to reassure myself that it was true what he'd said. "Yeah?"

When I looked back at him, it seemed like he was standing closer than before. He didn't spare one glance at his surroundings, his eyes still boring into mine as he answered. "Yes."

I didn't know what to respond to that. Respond to anything what he said, actually. A strange confusion had taken over me since we had arrived and right now it was getting so strong that I couldn't form a coherent thought.

Just as I turned away from him, it felt better.

"So, what are you gonna do now?" Jackson asked and followed me over to the place where I would usually sit down and start drawing.

"Umm, I was planning on drawing something…"

My voice trailed off at the smirk on his face and I knew that we were both thinking about the same thing, that time when he had taken my scrapbook from me and browsed through it. The fact that he had seen some of my most private drawings still drew a blush of bashfulness and anger on my face.

"Great! Don't bother with me, pretend I'm not here."

I huffed and sat into the sand, pulling my drawings utensils out of my bag. _Pretend I'm not here_, my ass. He knew just as well I couldn't do that!

Still, I tried bravely, attempting a sketch of a dead tree near the cliffs, my fingers almost trembling from having him watching me so intently.

"You're really good," Jackson said after a while, pulling the scrapbook from my hands to look at the sketch. "When did you start drawing?"

I shot him a dark look, slightly irritated that he interrupted me and reached for the book. "Can I have that back?"

"When you answer my question."

I sat back and shrugged, not really seeing the point of this discussion. "A few years ago. I would draw something every now and then, during school maybe, when I was bored, and when I started to realize that I actually wasn't that bad, I started doing it more and more."

Jackson smiled and skimmed through the last pages of my scrapbook, ignoring the hand I held out. "But you haven't drawn anything in the last weeks," he observed.

Again, I shrugged. This time, the nonchalance was forced, though. "I had other things on my mind lately."

He looked up at my sharp tone and there was a pained expression in his eyes that startled me.

"I know you think that it didn't affect me at all, but… don't think that I take this lightly."

I didn't respond. My eyes fixed on the grayish waves, the water breaking against the raw cliffs.

"You have no idea how shocked I was, when I found you that night," he continued. "How helpless I felt. One minute we're fighting our usual childish high-school fights, and the other you lay there, as if you were dead…"

He broke off and I could feel him shift uncomfortably. My hands turned into tight fists at his words.

"What do you think how I reacted? Indifferent? Gleeful even?" His voice became louder and I felt chill run down my arms, making the little hairs stand up. I realized that I had never been alone with him like this, in a place fully remote and isolated.

Heatedly, he claimed. "I'm not such a person, Lisa! I'm not that fucked up!"

His voice was trembling slightly and I stiffened, still refusing to move.

"God damnit, look at me!"

I jumped when he grabbed my chin and turned my face toward his, his thumb dipping into the skin beneath my lower lip. I stared at him, terrified by his sudden anger and the almost feverish glint in his eyes. He was sitting close to me, his knee was pushing into my thigh. I became aware of the threat of him as a man, not as some high school jerk.

He seemed to read what was going on in my mind, because he released me and shuffled back in the sand, putting distance between us.

"Relax, nobody's hurting you," he soothed and only then I realized that my eyes had filled with tears.

I turned away, showing my back to him when I felt the tears spilling, refusing to cry in front of him. It was the first time that I had a breakdown in front of another person. I had always managed to hold it together until now. The tightening in my chest and throat foreboded a panic attack and I pulled my knees to my chest, hiding my face.

The panic set in and hindered my breathing, making me emit choking sobs that sounded absolutely pathetic to my own ears. I didn't want to know how I looked to him right now. Helpless, weak. I despised myself more than I did him at this moment, but it only made me cry harder.

I felt Jackson move behind me and lay his arm around me, carefully stroking my hair.

"I'm sorry, Leese. I didn't want to frighten you." There was clear distress in his voice. At first it surprised me, but then I remembered his despair when I had cried in front of him in the forest, his incapability to deal with the situation. He was obviously unable to comfort another human being.

When I didn't stop, he pulled me into an awkward half-embrace, as I wouldn't leave the curled up position I was in. "Hey, calm down."

My sobs died down and I breathed in deeply, trying to get it together. He squeezed my upper arms lightly and I stiffened as I realize how close he'd gotten. He was still holding me, his hands rubbing circles on my arms and shoulders and I was practically leaning against him.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed. "I didn't mean to be hysteric."

"It's okay. I expected it, really. I'm surprised how long you managed to keep up the façade."

Those words weren't exactly comforting, in fact they sounded more like his chauvinistic bullshit than solace, but I sensed that he was trying his best to be friendly.

I shifted a bit, expecting him to release me now that I had calmed down, but he didn't make any attempts to let go of me. With more force, I pulled myself out of his arms and he reluctantly lost his hold on me.

I moved away from him, suddenly finding myself unable to meet his gaze. I felt him watching me and a blush rose up in my cheeks. Experiencing this new, gentle side of him confused me, and I didn't understand why I felt so uncomfortable about it. It was, after all, much better than being bullied.

"I should go home, now," I said, even though we hadn't been here for long, yet. I just couldn't bear to be alone with him for any longer.

"Okay. I'll drive you home."

He stood and helped me to my feet, before quickly bending down and scooping up my belongings. I reached out to take my bag from his hands, a 'thanks' already forming on my lips, but he ignored me and swung it over his shoulder, carrying it for me.

I felt my face burn as I followed him, oddly embarrassed by the gesture.

"Really, I can carry it."

"No, it's fine."

It was, in a way, a polite thing to do, carrying a girl's bag, an act that so did not fit to the brisk, cold tone his voice had taken.

We quietly made our way back to the car, where I secretly threw a glance at the reflecting surface of the window. I looked like a mess, with puffy eyes and red nose, and I quickly wiped the tears away with my sleeve, hoping to erase as much evidence of my breakdown as possible.

We drove back in silence, both of us lost in thoughts. Once or twice, I threw a glance at him from the corner of my eyes, but he kept his eyes stolidly ahead, feigning ignorance of my presence.

"Well, I guess, I see you tomorrow," I said, when the car stopped in front of my house.

Jackson nodded absently. "Don't forget your bag."

I climbed out of the car and he drove off without another word. I looked after him, until the car rounded a corner, confused by his sudden taciturnity. Against my will, against the voice of pride and rationality which told me that I hadn't done anything wrong, I wondered if I had angered him somehow.

After all, he had been the one who followed me to the bay, not I. I had made very clear to him that his attendance was undesired, so what did he expect? Was he upset because I had literally fled from the bay in the end? Or was I overreacting again?

In the end, I decided simply that it was useless to dwell on it, anyway. I wouldn't reach a conclusion, other than blaming myself, and if I'd ask him, all I would get was a cryptic answer or a cynical stare.

_They say, a girl can never tell the truth about how she feels. _If that was the case, then Jackson Rippner had definitely more of a girl than he liked to admit.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Next chapter is going to be Jackson's POV again. I'm really looking forward to it and am already halfway finished ;) Please tell me what you think about the pacing, I'm really scared that it gets too boring for you guys, I'm trying to keep the whole process a bit realistic, just because I want to be respectful to the issue this story is dealing with. <em>**


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